


Beautiful Disaster

by darkfantasies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Draco, But My Writing Isn't That Good, Drarry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst, Hero Complex, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Sorry, M/M, POV Harry, Romoine, Self-Hatred, Smut, So Probably Not, Top Harry, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, You Have Been Warned, You might cry, sin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkfantasies/pseuds/darkfantasies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody wants to talk to Draco Malfoy after they return to Hogwarts for their 8th year and Harry feels bad for him. When friendship leads to something more, Harry finds himself sucked into the intricate inner workings of Draco Malfoy. Harry soon finds out that he's not the only one who's broken and that maybe Draco needs more help than he lets on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

**Author's Note:**

> it's rated explicit for later chapters. Also not beta-ed, so all mistakes are my own :))

“No Draco, you’re not allowed to do that! Get up, you prick! Wake up, wake up, wake up – please Draco please – I n…need you. I love you,” Harry sputtered out, whispering now, his voice hoarse from screaming ragged. His cheeks stained with tears and sweat and blood.

Harry hadn’t even cried this hard when Dobby, Hedwig or even Sirius had died. He was screaming again and he didn’t even know it – making animalistic noises that weren’t humanly possible. His throat was burning; it felt like he was going to cough up his lungs, yet he continued screaming. His eyes burned like they were on fire and he couldn’t even see through the tears spilling down his face, painting it with misery and sadness. His eyes forced more tears out of his eyes and he didn’t bother wiping them away.

Let him go blind. He’d rather be shrouded in eternal darkness than see a world without Draco Malfoy – _his Draco._

Some sense finally entered his frantic mind and he stood up on his weak legs and picked Draco up into his arms. Draco’s head lolled to the side, devoid of any reaction. Harry tilted dangerously to the side but quickly righted himself. He would not drop Draco.

More by muscle memory than anything, Harry ran to the infirmary as fast as he could while carrying an unconscious eighteen year-old boy. Tears were still slipping out of his eyes, blurring his vision. His glasses were smudged and he might as well have been running without them. It was miraculous he didn’t run into a wall by accident.

The halls were reasonably deserted, considering that it was dinnertime and everyone would most likely be in the Great Hall. The faint firelight illuminated the dark hallway and the only sounds to be heard were the wind and Harry’s heavy footsteps beating against the stone ground. His muscles ached, straining painfully. He was on the quiddititch team but even that hadn’t trained his leg muscles much since it was a sport that consisted of flying around on a broom. He had never exercised much especially after defeating Voldemort and he was starting to regret it.

As Harry ran, he assessed Draco. He prayed to whatever entity that was up there that Draco was still breathing, that the boy’s lungs were still fighting to push air in and out of his body, that his heart was still pumping blood through his veins. Harry would have checked all these himself if he hadn’t been so hysterical before and he cursed himself. It was pure torture not knowing Draco’s condition. Anything would hurt less than this nescience.

How long did it take to get from the bathroom to the infirmary? Harry continued running, not slowing his pace though his lungs burned and his legs threatened to fall off. Draco was like a limp rag doll in Harry’s arms – no, not a rag doll, a porcelain doll. His pale skin and elegant frame, the way he seemed like he would break if Harry dropped him. Draco was beautiful and rare and fragile and Harry was the owner of this precious luminescent boy. The thought stopped Harry’s mind from running itself in circles, if only briefly.

Then there it was, the door to the infirmary. Though his throat hoarse, Harry shouted, “Madam Pomfrey, he needs urgent attention immediately!” Madam Pomfrey appeared almost instantaneously at the doorway, face flushed. “What happened to him,” she screeched in a way Harry had never thought possible of the decorous women.

“Never mind that, I’ll just tend to him,” she continued, pushing Harry out of the way as he laid Draco carefully on the bed. “I can probably save him, but I need you to move back Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey shoving Harry back again. “It's been so long since I've seen something like this,” muttered Madam Pomfrey to herself under her breath, “especially a pureblood at that.”

Harry pushed himself to the side of the bed, trying to get a hold of Draco, just to let him know that he was there. “Potter, I will be forced to call the Headmaster down if you don’t let me tend to Mr. Malfoy here. I doubt you’d like to deal with McGonagall,” said Madam Pomfrey with finality.

Harry ignored Madam Pomfrey’s warning, brushing it off like he would a piece of lint on his robes. Nothing mattered more in this moment than Draco and he wasn’t letting some old school nurse coming in between them. He just wanted to be near Draco.

“Ah, Ms. Chang, please get Mr. Potter out of here immediately,” said Madame Pomfrey, pushing Harry into Cho’s arms. Cho looked quizzically at Harry, raising an eyebrow at him. She paled significantly when she saw a bloodied Draco lying on the bed over Harry’s shoulder. Harry saw her mind connect the dots and realised why she was sorted into Ravenclaw. “Come on Harry, staying here won'tt do you any good,” said Cho, taking Harry’s arm lightly but forcefully and guiding him out of the infirmary.

Harry wrestled out of her grip and made a dash towards the bed, practically flinging himself towards Draco. They didn’t understand. He needed to be with Draco. He needed to tell Draco that he loved him and that he would never leave his side, despite what he had said before. Then he felt strong arms around his torso, holding him back. It felt masculine and his mind immediately concluded that it wasn’t Cho.

“Mate, come here. Stop being so weird. Madame Pomfrey needs to heal him and you being here isn’t helping anyone. Look at poor Cho,” said Ron, inclining his head towards her direction. “You’ve scared the wits out of her.” “Harry, please stop being so difficult,” pleaded Hermione, who was out of Harry’s peripheral vision.

Harry continued writhing, trying to get to Draco. That was his only goal right now – to be close to Draco. “Harry, please don’t make me do this,” he heard Hermione say, her voice getting higher. Harry bit down on Ron’s arm and Ron yelped and let go. Harry flung himself to the side of the bed. He was hysterical at this point of time and he didn’t care anymore. Let the whole school think he’d lost his mind. He’d sacrifice his whole reputation to be with Draco – to be by his side.

He couldn’t lose Draco, not after everything they’d been through. They had so many plans. “Don’t leave me alone. Please stay with me. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” Harry sobbed, holding onto Draco’s limp hand. “I’m sorry,Harry, but you made me do this,” he heard Hermione say and then he felt a _stupefy_ hit him in the back and he fell face first onto the ground. His vision blackened and Draco’s pale hand was the last thing he saw as he slipped into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked what you read, please leave kudos and comment ;))


	2. The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took forever to update but I actually like where the plot of this is going and I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it.

Draco sat alone at the Slytherin table, except for Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini who looked much more interested in their own conversation than Draco. The pale boy was pushing his food around his plate, watching it with as much excitement as Harry had for divination – which wasn’t any at all.

Harry had noticed the Slytherin grow thinner and thinner as the days passed. He barely touched his food or talked to anybody, though he dutifully appeared at lessons. It puzzled Harry to the point where it was such a nagging curiosity that Harry made it a point to study the boy.

Harry looked out for him every lesson they shared – which were quite a few – and unconsciously kept tabs on him. Harry soon found his life revolving around Draco Malfoy – almost like a repetition of 6th year, but not quite. There was something different about it this time. Harry was quite sure that Draco wasn’t causing any trouble, yet whenever Draco entered the Great Hall every mealtime, Harry perked up. It was almost as if Harry had developed a supernatural sense of the Slytherin.

Everytime their eyes crossed paths, Harry wanted to take the boy’s hand and ask him if everything was alright. However, whenever the opportunity arose, Harry would take one look into the boy’s hollow dead eyes and back away. He knew that look. He had worn it when he was searching for horcruxes and it felt like even though they had hit rock bottom, it would only get worse. He hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone and he decided that giving Draco space would be the best thing to do. But, Draco got thinner and his eyes became sadder and he seemed more distant than he ever had before.

Breakfast ended. Harry dutifully finished eating his breakfast at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by friends and happiness and Draco still hadn’t touched his food or uttered a word to anyone. Harry pushed the thought to the back of his head and brought his attention back to Ginny. Ginny and him had finally begun dating after returning to school. It was definitely much more convenient to have her in the same year as he was, giving them more time to build their relationship up from the shambles it had been.

Ginny held his hand and continued droning on about quidditch, her lips smiling and eyes twinkling. Harry could see that it made her more than happy – the way her eyes lit up and how she looked like she could conquer the world on a broomstick – and he smiled too, not because he found quidditch particularly interesting anymore, but because when she smiled, Harry felt like he could do anything. Maybe he could do anything.

“I'll be right back, Ginny,” said Harry, stepping over the bench and leaning over the table to give Ginny a kiss on her forehead. Ron rolled his eyes in exasperation and Hermione smacked him lightly on the shoulder. She gave Harry an apologetic smile and interlaced her fingers with Ron’s. He blushed and rested his head on her shoulder before waving Harry off.

Harry shuffled over to the Slytherin table, shoulders sagging and his head lowered. He sat himself down next to Draco, leaving a generous amount of space between them, hoping he came off as non-threatening. “What are _you_ doing here?” spat out Pansy, whipping her head in Harry’s direction. Harry had to stop himself from falling off the bench and tried to hide his fright

Pansy smirked at his reaction before snaking her arm around Draco’s possessively. Blaise furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, probably trying to figure out why Harry had suddenly appeared. “And to what do we owe the pleasure of a visit by our very own _Saint Potter_?” Blaise drawled, looking Harry up and down. Harry felt queasy at the mention of Draco’s nickname for him. It almost felt wrong, coming out of Blaise’s mouth. The dark-skinned boy was sizing him up and Harry shifted back just a bit.

“I just wanted to talk to Draco,” Harry answered, inclining his head in Draco’s direction. Pansy snorted and Blaise raised an eyebrow, searching for an underlying meaning to Harry’s innocent statement. Draco lifted his head at the mention of his name and glanced furtively at Harry before quickly returning his gaze to the empty plate in front of him. Harry frowned slightly at Draco’s refusal to acknowledge his presence, but pushed the feeling away.

“Draco doesn’t want to be disturbed by the likes of _you_ ,” sneered Pansy, pulling Draco’s arm towards her body in an almost possessive manner. “I wasn’t aware that you were the spokesperson of Draco over here,” said Harry, voice lilting. Pansy’s cheeks reddened significantly at the rebuff. Draco chuckled abruptly – a mirthless hollow thing, like his eyes. Harry hadn’t seen something that cheery escape from Draco in days and his mind perked up at the thought that this just might work.

“Okay Potter, I’ll talk you,” said Draco, a familiar glint of amusement flashing briefly across his face as he finally met Harry’s eyes. Harry stood up and led them outside the Great Hall, away from curious glances and unwanted gossip. “Draco,” said Harry, dragging out the syllables almost lyrically, “I’ve just been wondering if you’ve been okay lately.” Draco tugged down the sleeves of his robes uncomfortably and refused to meet Harry’s eyes. “And why exactly wouldn’t I be okay?” spat out Draco, defensive. Harry took a step back and Draco’s eyes widened in guilt.

“Its just that I’ve noticed that you haven’t been quite yourself lately and…” Harry trailed off as he noticed panic start to settle into Draco’s thin frame. The blond was trembling ever so slightly and his white-knuckled hands were fisting his robes. “I don’t mean to intrude Draco but,” Harry started once again, hoping to take a less drastic and direct approach.

“You don’t know a single thing about me, _Potter,_ ” said Draco, voice laced with venom, “so don’t go around thinking that you can save everyone with a few pathetic words and that golden heart of yours. There are things in this world that even you can’t comprehend with that meagre intelligence of yours.” Draco stormed off, every step away from Harry driving the words further into his heart like a stake.

Harry didn’t know why he felt so hurt and fragile in this moment. Draco had definitely said and done worse to him. These words however, stung like slap to his face and he soon realised that it was because they rang with truths that he wouldn’t – couldn’t – admit to himself. After the Wizarding War, he had constantly gone around trying to fix everything that was broken. He’d believed that maybe if he managed to put everything back together, everything would go back to normal. He had tried to erase the memory of Voldemort from his life, yet he couldn’t, because Voldemort was entwined to him in such an intricate way that nobody could entangle the two, even though the part of Voldemort inside him had been destroyed.

How had a few words from Draco reduced him to a crumbling mess? More importantly, how had Draco managed to pick up on his hidden insecurities, weave them together and wield them against Harry like a weapon? He sighed as he saw the blond head of hair disappear into the Great Hall. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the cool stone wall, grateful for its support.

Nobody understood the burden that had been on him his whole life. Even now, with Voldemort gone, he felt pressured to be a ‘Saviour’ if only because everyone kept expecting him to do so. Only Draco had seemed to notice the gnawing feeling inside him that had hounded him since he found out he was the Chosen One. Maybe talking to someone who understood how he felt would get him over this seemingly immovable roadblock in his life. Maybe talking to Draco would help him get over his own insecurities and broken pieces the same way he hoped to help Draco. Maybe Draco could help him.

Harry stood up and straightened his robes, pulling his sleeves down and fussing with his hair. As he sauntered towards the Great Hall, a plan began to formulate in his mind. He smiled to himself as he worked together the pieces and how they clicked together. However, his thoughts shattered like glass against stone when a familiar voice punctuated the crisp morning air in a shout that could only mean danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked this, please leave kudos and comment because I love hearing what you guys think


	3. Acquaintances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking so long but school is a bitch and now it's the holidays so I have loads of time to update ;)

Harry ran. His legs carried him across the hallway and through the doors of the Great Hall. His eyes scanned the vast room, looking for the source of the voice that could only belong to one person. Ginny.

The scene was almost something out of a muggle movie. Ginny was standing on the bench, head held high, wand trained on Draco who had flattened himself against the wall, making himself as small as possible. She looked like a warrior – eyes fierce, stance perfect. Harry glanced between the two, the air thick with tension, crackling with animosity.

He came to his senses and propelled himself between the two. He spread his arms wide, flailing them in the hopes that it would stop Ginny’s murderous feelings. “Stop it! What’s gotten into you, Ginny?” he shouted. Ginny’s eyes were hard as she stepped off the bench with an elegant jump. She straightened her skirt as she stalked over to Harry.

“Those gits just threatened your life,” she said through gritted teeth. She was up close, right in Harry’s personal space, staring straight into his eyes. Her hazel eyes shone bright with anger and he took a step back. He put his hands on her shoulders and smiled gently. “What exactly did they say?” said Harry, careful to keep his tone neutral and light.

He saw her face melt into something softer and she glanced furtively over his shoulder before continuing. “They said that Draco had probably taken care of you, and when he came back and you didn’t… I had to do something, you must understand.” Harry smiled at her, hands still on her shoulders. “They’re not worth it and I’m still here aren’t I,” Harry said lightly before looking over his shoulders to see the pale boy and his friends gone.

He made a mental note to check up on Draco but put the thought aside for later revisiting. Ginny nodded, a tear sliding down her cheek. Harry wiped it away and pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her hands around his waist tightly. “It’s just after Voldemort… I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you,” Ginny’s voice breaking. He kissed her forehead. She was crying into his chest and Harry held her like he might lose her if he let go.

All eyes in the Great Hall were on them but Harry didn’t care in that moment. “I miss _one_ meal and all hell breaks loose.” Harry looked up to see McGonagall walking towards them and he reluctantly let go of Ginny. She hastily wiped away her tears with the sleeve of her robes when she noticed that they were in the presence of the Headmistress. “What _exactly_ happened here, might I ask?” McGonagall asked calmly.

Before Ginny could speak, Hermione spoke up. “It’s just that Ginny was provoked by Pansy Parkinson – she insinuated that Harry had been hurt – and Ginny remembered Voldemort and she just reacted without thinking.” “Thank you Miss Granger but I was asking Miss Weasley over here,” said McGonagall with a smile. Hermione flushed red and Ron put a hand over his mouth, hiding his amusement. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione glare at him.

Turning her attention back on Ginny, McGonagall asked, “Is this all true?” Ginny nodded, eyes averted. There was a deafening silence and every word said echoed around the cavernous room. Everyone’s focus was on Ginny, McGonagall and him. Harry shifted uneasily at the attention. “Then you must understand why I simply must give you detention, whatever be circumstances. I’ll also need to see you in my office,” McGonagall continued. Ginny nodded and followed behind her dutifully, head down. Everybody’s eyes, including Harry’s, followed her out of the room.

Harry sank onto the bench, body hunched. “What got into her just now?” asked Harry, still looking at the door that she left through. Hermione sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. “I don’t know,” she said, looking into her lap. Ron sat down next to her, putting an arm around her waist. “She just lost it. Draco and his minions always say nonsense like this but Ginny’s never given it a second thought before today.” The thought of Draco cursing his life unnerved Harry.

He nodded, even though his mind wasn’t processing anything. How was Draco feeling now? He couldn’t possibly begin to fathom what was going through the blond’s head. He may have stood before the Dark Lord, but being threatened by someone you never even considered dangerous in a place you once considered safe – that would send anyone right to their grave. His mind inadvertently brought up memories from the War and he shook them away hastily. He wouldn’t let himself drown in those depressing moments – unable to resurface to reality.

“Harry, come on! We’re gonna be late to class,” said Hermione, picking up her books. Harry hadn’t noticed her stand up and let go of his hand. He picked himself up unceremoniously and dusted himself off. “You guys head off first. I’ll be right behind you.” He waved them off and headed to the direction of the bathroom.

He needed some fresh air and time to process all that’d happened. He heaved a sigh of relief as he walked into the seemingly vacant bathroom. He didn’t want to be the Boy Who Lived or the Chosen One now. Right now, he just wanted to be Harry – an ordinary bloke who had fought in the War and survived – not some prophetic divine being who had killed Voldemort and ended a reign of terror that had plagued the Wizarding World for so long.

A quiet, almost indistinct sob pulled Harry from spiralling into his thoughts and he instinctively brought out his wand. He held it firmly in front of him, his defensive mode taking control. He would look like a crazed animal to anyone who saw him now – eyes darting around the room, white-knuckled hands gripping his wand, biting his lip so hard that it was near bleeding.

Harry took measured steps towards the source of the sobs, which were getting increasingly louder and uncontrolled. He held his breath as he forcefully pushed open the cubicle door – which was surprisingly unlocked – ready to hex whatever malicious thing lay on the other side. The malicious thing however, turned out to be a very frangible Draco Malfoy.

The blond was curled up on the floor, eyes red and puffy, lips trembling ever so slightly at the sudden intrusion. The usually proud Malfoy heir looked like a porcelain doll – mere moments from shattering against the stone ground. The thought crossed Harry’s mind that Draco looked like he was about to start crying again – or maybe he’d never stopped. In that moment Draco looked like a wounded animal – small, trembling and distrustful of anyone who dared approach it. The blond shifted back veer so slightly and Harry’s mood dipped to see the fear he induced in the boy.

He realised that it was probably due to the fact that he still had his wand pointed at him and quickly pocketed it. He lifted both his hands in a show of peace and knelt down slowly, giving Draco ample time to reject him. He smiled lightly and sat down next to the boy who was now studying him quizzically. “I’m sorry about Ginny by the way. I hope she didn’t harm you.” Draco furrowed his brows and began to open his mouth. Harry could already anticipate what Draco was going to say.

“I know what you’re going to say and no I’m not trying to save you or justify her actions or anything of that sort. I just believe that no one should be threatened by a fellow _acquaintance_.” Yes, that word sounded safe enough to use – acquaintance. Draco closed his mouth and stared forward, not meeting Harry’s gaze. Harry closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wooden stall. He wouldn’t mind staying here in the quiet company of Draco Malfoy. He was in no mood for any lessons after that encounter in the morning – and he doubted Draco was either.

“Are you referring to your parents being betrayed by Peter Pettigrew?” The question punctured the silence and hung in the air, heavy and awkward. Despite wanting to, Harry could detect no vicious intentions or hidden malice. The question was pure, simple, unrefined – raw. Nothing that he would expect out of a Malfoy. He noticed that his body had stiffened unconsciously and he shook of the tension weighing him down.

Draco didn’t seem like he wanted an answer. The question was more like a statement. Everybody knew of Peter Pettigrew’s betrayal of his parents’ that led to that fateful night in Godric’s Hollow, where history was made. Assessing the situation again, Harry realised that he didn’t feel obliged to answer the question, so he left it there, hanging. The silence between the two of them didn’t feel awkward or like a hole that needed to be filled with meaningless words and grating sounds. Even though nothing was being said, it felt like a million different feelings and emotions and sentiments were passing through the minute space between the two boys.

Harry had never felt like this around anyone else. A peace settled over Harry like a silk blanket as he swam in his thoughts, treading the calm waters of his subconscious. Reality had faded to a dull thrumming in his ears. He could acutely feel the even breathing of the boy next to him. He smiled at the pleasant rhythm it set to his hectic life. He felt his eyes grow heavy and though he knew he was probably missing lessons, he let them close. The darkness blanketed him and greeted him like a long-lost friend. How many nights of sleep had he missed after the War? Sleep descended upon him like a gift presented to him from the heavens and just as the last parts of him were untangled from materiality, he whispered almost inaudibly. “You know, it’s nice sitting here with you, Draco. Who’d have thought?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked it, please leave a kudo and comment


	4. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes yes I know I'm terrible at updating but here it is

When Harry opened his eyes, Draco was gone. Well what did he expect? Harry rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stood up, steadying himself against the cubicle wall. He peered out of the stall to find the bathroom disappointingly desolate.

He shook off the feeling like raindrops in his hair and walked out, trying to gauge what time it was exactly. The sunlight filtered through the grimy windowpanes and Harry thought it safe to guess that it was lunchtime. Maybe he’d be able to find Draco the Great Hall and thank him for his company.

Walking to the Great Hall, Harry couldn’t seem to rid himself of the horrible feeling that he’d been abandoned. Its not like Draco leaving him constituted as abandonment. Draco had every right to leave him there and then.

He had imposed upon Draco’s personal space, intruded upon his weakest moment and his girlfriend had attacked him without reason. His girlfriend, Ginny. The word was bland in his mouth. He was skipping classes, ignoring the girl he loved and unknowingly causing a rift between the students at Hogwarts. Was he even in the right state of mind to have a girlfriend?

Ginny deserved so much better than him, but breaking up with her wouldn’t solve that problem. She needed all the emotional support she could get, if her explosion in the Great Hall didn’t speak for itself. How had he been so blind to her silent suffering?

Maybe Draco was right. He had been trying so hard to fix everyone that he hadn’t noticed that Ginny was breaking apart right under his nose. He needed to be there for her and that started with him physically being by her side. He quickened his pace as he headed towards the Great Hall.

Pushing open the doors, the amiable chatter filled his ears and he sank into its pleasant embrace. “Where’s Ginny?” he asked, seating himself next to Hermione. “We should be asking where you went?” she retorted, eyes on the plate in front of her. “McGonagall decided to send her home for the weekend. No point in keeping her here while she breaks down,” Ron said half-heartedly, pushing his food around his plate.

“Oh,” said Harry, more to himself than to anyone else. “Where were you anyway, mate?” Ron asked, looking u p from his untouched food. Harry’s eyes zoomed in on it. Ron always ate, even when they were looking for Horcruxes or when they were running away from Snatchers. This was so uncharacteristic of him, that Harry felt his own stomach clench. It must have been really bad with Ginny, to affect Ron this much.

“I went to the bathroom and I don’t know what happened, but I just knocked out,” he answered finally, deciding that it would be best to leave Draco out of this. Ron nodded, though not seeming like he even bothered. “Yeah, I doubt you get much sleep with all that thrashing around. I get nightmares too, though not as bad as yours,” Neville commented, smiling knowingly at Harry.

Harry smiled back. Really the only people who managed to get a decent amount of sleep in their dorm seemed to be Dean and Seamus. Seamus had abandoned his own bed to crawl into Dean’s and sleep in each other’s embrace as they quelled their nightmares together. It was in all honesty, sweet for Harry to see at least some of his friends find comfort after the traumatic War.

Harry stared at the platters of food on the table and his gaze slowly drifted off to settle on a certain blond Slytherin. Draco thankfully looked much better than he had in the bathroom. His eyes still seemed to be red, but at least he was here. Harry propped his head upon his hand as he studied the Slytherin.

Draco was staring dejectedly at a plate of food that looked untouched. His ash blond hair fell into his face and he half-heartedly swatted it away, doing nothing to rid it from his vision. Harry almost felt compelled to walk over and push the Slytherin’s hair behind his ears. Harry frowned at the thought as it floated aimlessly through his mind.

Harry yearned to go over to the Slytherin and ask him what exactly had transpired between them in the bathroom, but he knew leaving now would do him no good. Draco looked up and his eyes locked with Harry’s. Harry felt himself smiling and blushing furiously at being caught, but all Draco did was blink rapidly then frown and hurriedly look back down.

The blond turned and whispered something to Pansy and Blaise who waved him away. He got up, eyes downcast and trudged towards the door. Harry stood up before his mind processed what he was doing and followed Draco out, muttering an excuse about being tired to sate his friend’s curiosity.

Draco seemed to notice Harry, because he quickened his pace. “Draco!” Harry called out, running to catch up with the Slytherin. Draco’s breathing quickened as Harry reached out and touched his shoulder, flinching away like he’d been stung. Harry sensing this, lifted is hand off the boy. “What do you want now, Potter?” Draco snarled, though it sounded feeble and hollow.

Harry opened his mouth to say something and then promptly closed it. He had no idea why he had followed Draco, let alone what he wanted to say to him. “If you’re trying to stalk me, your doing a terrible job of it,” Draco snorted, beginning to walk again. “I was wondering what happened between us in the bathroom?” Harry asked, the words tumbling clumsily out of his mouth in a rush to escape the confines of his throat.

Draco’s eyes widened and his mouth parted in shock. The image was gone in a second, and Draco tilted his head, exposing the pale skin of his neck. “I don’t know what you’re possibly prattling on about,” Draco said, airily, though his fingers drummed against his thigh. “We both know exactly what I’m talking about and if you don’t want to talk about, then that’s fine. I don’t know about you, but I know I felt something change between us in that bathroom,” Harry rambled, the disorganised feelings in his mind metamorphosing into words overflowing from his mouth before Harry could begin to dissect what he’d just said.

Draco was breathing heavily now, eyes refusing to meet Harry’s. Harry reached out, but remembering Draco’s aversion, held himself back. Draco’s eyes zeroed in on the movement and stepped back minutely. “I hate that we keep on stepping around each other like if we come into contact, we might explode. The War is over and we can’t act like the other doesn’t exist just by willing it to be so. We practically have half our lessons together and I’m sick and tired of accepting the fact that we’re supposed to hate each other. The only people who should decide our feelings are ourselves and frankly, I want to be your friend.”

The words felt like a weight lifted off Harry’s shoulders and he felt like a deflated balloon as the words that had been filling him like oxygen for the past 7 years left his system. Draco was shaking slightly, hands balled up into fists and Harry had the vague thought that Draco might punch him for suggesting such a thing after Harry rejected his friendship in First Year.

Draco followed Harry’s gaze and looked down at his clenched fists and let his fingers hang limply at his side. “Are you sure you want to be friends with someone like me?” Draco asked, voice quivering, bright eyes pinning Harry to the spot. The raw uninhibited look Draco was giving him, made Harry’s legs weak. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” Harry whispered, the words punctuating the hallway.

Draco inhaled slowly, blinking a few times before stretching out his hand. Harry looked at it, then realised hat he was supposed to shake it. He slid his hand into Draco’s and felt the smooth skin in contrast to his rough calloused ones. He held it firmly, noticing the way it fit perfectly into his. It was like unblemished ivory against his tan skin. He squeezed it lightly and Draco quickly pulled his hand back.

Draco’s hand had been cold in his and he wondered how the Slytherin managed not to feel hot under all those robes. The absence of Draco’s hand in his felt unnatural and Harry couldn’t pinpoint why. He ignored the feeling and slid his hands into his pockets. Draco offered a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes and continued walking, leaving Harry alone in the hallway with only the silence as company.

What would become of their relationship now? Now that they were friends. Harry rolled the word around his brain, letting it sink in. It was definitely an improvement from archenemy or nemesis. Would they say hi to each other along the corridors? Would they go to Hogsmeade together during the weekends? Would they tell each other their secrets in the confidence that it would stay between the two of them? Harry honestly didn’t know.

He had walked back to his room, giddy with the knowledge that he and Draco had become friends – even if it was only a word right now with no basis. He flopped onto his bed, eyes for once not heavy with exhaustion. The sleep he had gotten in the bathroom had significantly brightened up his mood. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the canopy of red fabric above his bed and let the colour blur his vision.

Ginny, with her wild red hair popped into his mind and smiled fondly at the image when they were both happy and carefree. It dawned upon him that he hadn’t seen Ginny before she left for home and thought it would cheer her up if sent her an owl. Surely Ron wouldn’t mind him using Pigwidgeon to cheer up his sister.

He pulled out some parchment and ink from his bedside table and started with a classic _‘Dear Ginny’_ before finding himself stumped. He frowned at the parchment in front of him, realising he had no idea what to write. After staring at the blank sheet for what seemed like hours, Harry finally managed to produce a letter that if read by Ron or Hermione would look like blatant indifference.

 

> _Dear Ginny,_
> 
> _I heard that ~~McGonagall sent~~ you went home for the weekend. It would surely do you some good to rest up a bit before you come back. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to send you off or say goodbye at the least. Believe it or not, I fell asleep in the bathroom and missed all my lessons for the day. I was really hoping we could’ve gone out during the weekend, but I guess we can wait till next week. I would like to properly take you out on a date next week, if you wouldn’t mind, of course. Hope you feel better soon._
> 
> _With love, Harry_
> 
> _p.s. tell your mum I say hi!_

It was not as if he was trying to come off as thoughtless, but words seemed to be lost on him at the moment and he really had tried his best as anyone would say if they saw how much thinking he’d done to achieve that mediocre letter that was possibly way too formal to be sending to his girlfriend.

Harry groaned at his pathetic excuse of a letter and contemplated tearing it up, but thought better of it. He rolled out of bed and made a trek to the Owlery. The flapping of wings and the smell of bird droppings made Harry gag and he ducked as he made his way to the back to where Pigwidgeon was usually disturbing the other owls.

Harry chuckled as he found the grey Scops Owl irritating an Eagle Owl that looked familiar. Harry squinted at it, trying to place where he’d seen it before, but gave up as again his memory failed him. He gave the letter to Pigwidgeon and stroked his feathers before whispering, “Give it to Ginny for me.”

Pigwidgeon hooted before taking flight, and Harry watched the grey bird soar into the cloudy blue sky, its tiny wings spread wide. Harry leaned against the doorpost of the Owlery as Pigwidgeon became a tiny speck in the sky. How Harry wished he were an owl so he could fly away and be free from all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave kudos and comments if you liked this :))


	5. Visits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT GETS A BIT GORY IN THE DREAM HARRY HAS, SO PLEASE IGNORE THAT BIT IF YOU CAN'T STOMACH THAT KIND OF CRAP THANK YOU!!
> 
> also I'm not dead,, guess who's back ;))

Harry walked idly back to the Gryffindor dorms, arms swaying at his side. He was greeted by a few students and the smile he gave them was genuine for once instead of the fake one he was used to plastering on every morning. Maybe he should tell Draco that he'd contacted Ginny. Before he could reconsider, his feet changed directions towards the Slytherin dungeons.

Students were only now beginning to trickle back to their dorms and the few Slytherins who noticed him either waved or scowled. The dank air of the dungeons felt like a coat of paint on his skin. He shivered slightly as the torches along the walls did nothing to warm him.

The torches barely illuminated the Slytherin portrait and after waiting a while, Harry asked what looked like a friendly looking First year to go fetch Draco. He waited outside, balancing on the balls of his feet as the cold air seemed to try to pull him into its embrace.

A feminine squeal brought Harry's ear to the door as he listened to a familiar voice let out a series of perplexed sounds. "But why is Harry Potter looking for you? What game is he playing at? At least let one of us follow you outside," the feminine voice pleaded.

He heard a disgruntled sound that wasn't coming from the girl and he had to jump away as the door swung open. "Hi," Harry said stupidly, raising his hand in a wave. Draco just stared, cocking his head. His eyes looked bleak and his expression colder than even the dungeon air.

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco asked, sounding bored. Harry thought for a while, realising that telling Draco about his girlfriend that had just threatened to kill him in the morning hadn't been such a good idea. "I, ummm," he started, before closing his mouth, defeated.

Draco smirked. “Cat got your tongue, Potter?” Draco quipped, eyes brightening at Harry’s clear discomfort. Draco’s arms were folded and tucked tightly away from sight. Draco looked almost ghostly in this lighting. His pale skin seemed luminescent, and his grey eyes were like beacons against the harsh shadows of his face.

Draco’s smile died and he shifted his weight at Harry’s unabashed scrutiny. Harry quickly drew his attention away, directing his gaze towards the floor instead. “I don’t have all day, Potter. What do you want from me?” Draco asked, impatience tingeing his words, feet tapping against the floor in an unbroken staccato

“I wondered if you wanted to go for a walk. I need to get my mind off some things and some company would be really nice,” Harry answered, the words spilling out before he could process them fully. Draco frowned. He chewed his lip thoughtfully, making the sensitive skin flush bright red. Harry’s gaze was once again drawn to such a bright colour on Malfoy.

Draco seemed to notice, because he stopped instantly, tongue peeking out to wet the abused flesh. The Slytherin had coloured slightly, cheeks sporting a rouge that Harry had only seen on the Quidditch field.

“I don’t see why not…” Draco started, looking over his shoulder as he did. Draco stepped forward and Harry reached forward to clap him on the shoulder. Draco flinched, clutching his body and pressing against the wall. Harry brought his hand back, a question lodged in his throat.

Draco’s eyes darted from Harry’s hand to his face and detached himself from the wall. He was hyperventilating, pupils dilated, muscles tense. “Let’s go, Potter,” he huffed haughtily as if he had not just flattened himself against the wall. Harry blinked before following dutifully behind Draco. It wouldn’t do to ask questions that he most certainly would not get an answer to.

* * *

 

“Thestrals are absolutely revolting,” Draco spat, edging away from the beast. “How would you like if someone said that you?” Harry retorted, stroking the lustrous skin, feeling the dip of its bones. Draco visibly blanched and Harry laughed heartily.

“Not so nice, is it Malfoy?” Harry asked, still chuckling to himself. “Oh shut it, Potter,” he said, smiling shyly. “Come here,” Harry said, gesturing towards the thestral. Draco shuffled over, hand reaching out tentatively. Harry could see its slight tremble but he didn’t comment on it.

“See it likes you,” Harry said, which elicited a small smile from Draco. The thestral nuzzled Draco’s hand and Draco, growing more confident, ran his hand along the length of its body. Harry watched as the blond moved closer toward the beast and watched the chains weighing down the boy lift off his shoulders.

“Wait,” Harry intervened, “he likes to be stroked here,” he said, rubbing the skin behind the thestral’s leathery ear.

Harry felt Draco’s warmth emanating from his body before he felt Draco sidle up next to him and put his hand next to Harry’s. Harry’s breath hitched as his body adjusted to being in such close proximity to Draco Malfoy.

But this had happened before. In the bathroom. Harry remembered everything in crystalline clarity, like he was watching the memory in a pensieve. A hand brushing against his own brought him back to reality. He must have stiffened because Draco was nursing his own hand, pressing it against the fabric of his robes.

Harry swallowed. Draco cleared his throat. “I think I should be going now,” Draco said curtly, turning on his heel. “No, don’t leave,” Harry shrieked, reaching out , catching a handful of Draco’s robes.

“Don’t,” Draco said, voice deathly quiet, eyes widening in horror. Harry let out an incoherent sound. Draco pulled his robes back with force and stalked away without another word. “Draco, come back!” Harry shouted across the clearing, but Draco was already too far to hear or couldn’t care less.

* * *

 

Harry threw himself onto his bed, causing Neville to turn his head towards him. “What’s wrong, Harry?” he asked tentatively, putting his book down and marking the page with his quill. Harry grumbled and Neville smiled understandingly and perched himself on Harry’s bed.

Harry really didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, but the look in Neville’s eyes suggested that the blond wasn’t going anywhere. With a resigned sigh, Harry picked his brain to find something suitable to say to his fellow Gryffindor.

“Well, I have this friend of mine, but I think they don’t want to be friends with me anymore and I can possibly seem to find out why,” Harry lamented. “Is it really that difficult to imagine someone not wanting to be friends with you?” Neville asked bluntly, though his words held no menace whatsoever. Harry shot up at the comment, brows furrowed in confusion and a misplaced sense of anger.

“Oh I’m sorry, I think that came out the wrong way,” Neville said, blushing slightly. ‘What I meant was that, maybe they just haven’t fully recovered from the War and you being the Boy Who Lived and all is a painful reminder of it.” Harry nodded thoughtfully, letting the words find a place in his mind to settle in and burrow. “But I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be the Boy who Lived!” Harry shouted, before he realized that he was raising his voice. “I’m not saying you did, harry. You can’t help it. You know when I was younger; I wanted to be the one who defeated Voldemort when I was a baby, but I cant say I want that now. Truly, I’m happy it wasn’t me. What I’m saying is, you cant help who you are, Harry. You were born for this and now that it’s over, be happy that it is and that you still have whom you do. There’s no point lamenting over things that could’ve been,” Neville concluded, before picking up his book and exiting the room, leaving Harry more confused and frustrated than he had been before.

Neville’s words had struck a chord within Harry. Yes, maybe if he hadn’t been the Boy Who Lived, things would’ve gone a lot differently for him. But he probably wouldn’t have made friends with Ron, Hermione and the rest of those in Gryffindor. He might’ve been in Slytherin with Draco and his lot of friends. Things weren’t always the best for him, but at least he was alive. That’s what was most important.

He couldn’t go around crying about how awful his life was when people had lost their friends and family during the War. He had too, but the weight had already sunk in and he had had his time to mourn and grieve for so many. To him, loss was something as natural as turning on the light in a dark room. As sad as it was, he had gotten accustomed to losing the people around him, but he had to remember that loss was still an open wound for most of the students – and professors alike – here at Hogwarts.

Harry curled in on himself, letting the lull of sleep claim him. The hazy darkness hat followed was a welcome feeling – or so Harry thought. His dream started as it always did – surrounded by trees in a forest amidst the inky black sky. Then there was Voldemort, appearing from within that darkness. Try as he might, Harry’s feet wouldn’t move and he was rooted to the spot as Voldemort idly twirled the Elder Wand in his hand.

Harry tried to scream, but no sound came out. He twisted frantically, ropes suddenly binding him. They bit into his skin, the burning sensation of raw skin rubbing against the rope, making Harry let out another soundless cry. His eyes began to water as the ropes coiled around his neck, constricting his breathing. Voldemort clicked his tongue and the ropes suddenly turned into Nagini. Harry coughed violently, as she tightened her hold on him.

From behind Voldemort, stepped out Bellatrix, a knife in her hand, cackling madly. She stepped towards him and giggled triumphantly as she slid the blade across his cheek, drawing blood. He felt the warm liquid drip down his face and cringed as Nagini licked it with the flick of her cold forked tongue.   
“Shall I, my Lord?” Bellatrix asked as she always did. Voldemort answered with a curt nod and booming laughter that seemed to echo from all around the forest.

Bellatrix bent down, and drew the blade along his neck, slowly and languidly, as if she were painting a masterpiece. Harry felt the sting as his skin was split open and warm thick blood ran down his neck.

He coughed hopelessly, before tasting blood in his mouth as well. The metallic taste stained his lips and coated his tongue as he gagged hopelessly on the taste of it. Nagini coiled herself tighter, and Harry could feel the sharp snap of his ribs breaking. Bellatrix giggled, driving the knife deeper in, as she finished her line across Harry’s throat. What came next was Harry’s least favourite part. He squirmed, in a last desperate attempt to escape. “Did you know, you have your mother’s eyes?” Voldemort cooed.

Harry tried to shift back as Bellatrix came forward knife pointed at his eye. She slipped the knife into Harry’s eye socket and started carving out his eyeball. Harry let out a grotesque sound and tried to jerk away again to no avail. But again it was in vain, because a few seconds later Bellatrix cut the optic nerve and Harry’s eye popped out of his head, leaving a gaping hole that yearned to be filled.

“Potter,” sneered a masculine voice, which certainly didn’t belong to either Bellatrix or Voldemort. The voice was distorted and didn’t seem to be coming from a specific direcion, yet from all aound. His vision, already gone in one side, started to shake and Harry concluded it was due the loss of blood and his apparent light-headedness. Harry jolted awake, sitting up abruptly in his bed, chest heaving as he lifted his hand to check that his eye was indeed still connected to his head.

He sighed in relief as he wiped the sweat of his forehead, despite the winter weather, which had previously chilled him to the bone. He looked up to indentify his Saviour only to be encapsulated in silver eyes with pupils so dilated they almost looked black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked it, please leave kudos and comments


	6. Disclosure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took me so long to write this chapter but it's definitely one of my favourites so far, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it

Draco’s hand was still on his shoulder, grip so tight that Harry’s mind darted back to Nagini. Draco’s gaze was searching Harry’s stricken face and his eyes slowly caught onto Harry’s hands. Harry looked down to find his fingernails digging into his skin, red crescent moons embedded in his flesh. He released it, letting the pain ebb away.

“How did you get here?” Harry asked, breaking the tense silence. A sharp metallic tang in his mouth caused Harry to lick his lips. He tasted blood and realized that he must have bit his lip so hard that it bled.

Draco ran his finger across Harry’s lip. Harry held his breath as the pad of Draco’s thumb brushed against the bruised and bleeding flesh. He could faintly taste peppermint and resisted the urge to lick the flavour off Draco’s finger.

Draco however, beat him to it, and pressed his lips against Harry’s own. The gesture was so sudden that Harry hadn’t even processed it fully to pull away. Draco sucked slightly on Harry’s bottom lip, running his tongue along it, the pulling away just as quickly as it had started.

Harry blinked up at the pale boy, whose lips were stained with Harry’s blood and spit and tears. “You don’t happen to be a vampire by any chance, are you?” Harry voiced the first illogical thought that popped into his head. A cacophonous sound that must have been Draco’s laugh, filled the room. “I kiss you, and that’s the first thing that you ask me? You really are one of a kind,” Draco exclaimed, still laughing to himself.

Harry worried his lips, suddenly desperate for the pressure of Draco’s lips on his once again. But no, that couldn’t possibly be right. So he pushed the rogue thought aside, in favour of more logical ones. “How did you get into my room?” Harry tried again. Draco’s eyes slid away. “ I have my ways. Not to mention, you Gryffindors aren’t the most observant.”

Harry opened his mouth again, but Draco cut him of. “Don’t you have any friends? Why aren’t they here dragging you out of your nightmare, what with the ingrained sense of chivalry? You should be grateful that I was here to save you from whatever grotesque reality your mind cooked up.”

Draco smiled, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. Those silver eyes seemed sad and scared and broken and Harry’s heart ached at the thought of it. He leaned forward and pressed his lips softly against Draco’s. The warmth returned, thrumming through his veins. He slid his hands into Draco’s hair, upsetting the perfect manner it had been set in. He pulled it slightly, causing Draco to moan into the kiss.

Draco slipped his tongue into his mouth, and Harry happily obliged, letting the Slytherin explore his mouth. It was almost as if they had done this before – the ease of which they had slid into the it, the rhythm that they had set, the way their bodies knew exactly where to fit into each other. He doubted it had been this natural with Ginny. Ginny!

He had a girlfriend and here he was kissing Draco like he hadn’t been dating Ginny for the last 2 years. He pulled away reluctantly, disentangling himself from Draco. Draco smiled at him, cheeks flushed, eyes blown with lust. Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen the Slytherin this happy in all the years that they had gone to school together. How could he possibly break this to Draco?

“Ummm, Draco…” he started, pushing a lock of hair behind Draco’s ear as he did, then mentally cursed himself for doing so as Draco unconsciously leant into the touch. “You know that I’m in a relationship with Ginny, right?” he asked, as if he were asking someone if they knew water was wet. Draco’s smile dropped and Harry thought he could hear it shatter on the floor somewhere behind him. “O…of course,” Draco stammered, standing and folding his arms. He visibly curled in on himself, and Harry thought that maybe he could see the glistening of tears in his eyes.

“It’s not that I didn’t like your kissing or kissing you or anything like that. It’s just that I’m taken at the moment and I don’t think it’s quite right to cheat on your partner and all, especially with someone she hates, Merlin forbid.”

“Does that mean you hate me by default?” Draco asked, voice cracking, choking on his words. Harry vigorously shook his head, biting his lips as he did. This was all going so terribly wrong. “It’s not you. Really,” Harry said, wondering why he was justifying himself at all. “Its just that I’m with Ginny,” he said, though he sounded more like he was convincing himself more then he was Draco. Draco was worrying his lips between his teeth and averting his gaze from Harry with determination.

“Hey,” Harry said, standing up and walking over to Draco, causing the blond to stumble as he attempted to step back. Harry reached out reflexively, and held Draco up, arm around Draco’s back, Draco’s arms around his neck. Harry cleared his throat and Draco stood up, eyes wide and stuck on Harry’s. “Don’t tell me you felt nothing,” Draco said, though it sounded more like a question than a statement. Harry opened his mouth and found that nothing came out, before blushing as red as the Gryffindor colours. “I can’t,” Harry confessed, resignedly.

Draco smiled triumphantly, before his smile quickly faded away. “Is it because I’m a guy?” “No, I think that’s definitely not the issue here,” Harry found himself saying, laughing mirthlessly as he momentarily pushed aside the impending question of his supposed heterosexuality. “Then I guess I’ll just go now…” Draco trailed off, making to leave.

“No, stay,” Harry found himself saying, as he grabbed onto Draco’s hand, before it was wrenched back. Draco opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Harry covered it with his own, pressing his lips against Draco’s. He pushed his hands into Draco’s hair, upsetting it once again and backed Draco onto his bed. Draco fell onto it and pulled Harry down with him, deepening the kiss.

He felt Draco’s tongue, a sweet presence in his mouth, exploring it with fervor, like he was a delicacy. Draco slid his hands up Harry’s back and under his shirt, trailing his fingers along the length of his spine, eliciting a moan from Harry.

Draco’s hands wandered down Harry’s back, toying with waistband of his pants. Harry choked on his breath, scrambling backwards, panting. “I don’t think we should do that now,” Harry said, attempting to even his breathing, but failing miserably. Draco smirked, pretension oozing out of his words, “What, you’re scared of what you’re feeling? Okay, I’ll stop though, if that makes you feel good.”

Harry laughed, pulling Draco down into his embrace. Draco snuggled closer, resting his head on Harry’s chest. It had been so long since he lay with Ginny like this. “So why did you kiss me?” Harry asked sneakily, feeling Draco’s laugh vibrate through his body.

Harry looked down, staring into Draco’s eyes, twin pools of silver, reflecting something that Harry couldn’t put his finger on. “You really are quite daft, aren’t you? No wonder you aren’t in Ravenclaw,” Draco quipped, smiling, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“That still doesn’t explain why you kissed me. Aren’t I a stark reminder of the War, that you can’t stand to look at my face?” Harry asked, confusion bubbling like a cauldron. “What?” Draco asked, brows furrowed in equal confusion. Harry shook his head, mentally chiding himself for blurting that out. “You still haven’t answered my question,” Harry prodded, hastily changing the subject and directing the attention away from himself and his blunder.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Draco blurted out, then covered his mouth like it would erase what he had just said. Harry’s breath hitched, as he unconsciously released his grip on Draco. Draco’s eyes widened in fear as he sat up, eyes searching the room, utterly refusing to look at Harry. Harry felt his heart beating fast, the blood rushing through his veins a deafening roar in his ears.

He blinked once, twice. The thoughts in his brain swirled around in a commotion of feelings, disjointed to reality and all sense. He couldn’t seem to process anything.

 _Draco loves me, Draco loves me, Draco loves me,_ was a litany in his mind, refusing to stop or be muted. The confession screamed for his attention as he tried to get his inner-workings under control. The words emblazoned on his mind, as jarring as a flare in the inky black night, pulled him to reality, making him realise that Draco Malfoy was once again crying front of him.

He reached forward to put his hand on Draco’s cheek, before being harshly rejected by Draco jerking away and off his bed. The tears spilled and stained the pale boy’s flushed cheeks, streaking down his face in a transparent show of pure emotion. Draco had huddled himself in a corner and was desperately wiping the tears away, seeming angry with his body for betraying itself.

“I need to leave now,” Draco stated hoarsely, no other explanation provided. He rushed out the door, closing it behind him, leaving Harry unhinged and addled. After a few moments to actually process everything that had happened, Harry got up and ran out the door after Draco. He wasn’t letting the Slytherin get away that easily this time, not if he could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the drarry that you have been starving for has finally arrived and I hope that you guys who are reading this, enjoyed this fluffy little scene because ngl but it's only going to get sadder from here on onwards (( though there's obviously going to be a smutty scene in the near future to look forward to ))  
> if you liked what you've read, please leave kudos and comment because I love hearing your opinions and feelings


	7. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!!  
> this chapter explicitly describes and mentions self-harm, so if you get triggered easily or are in any danger of going into a relapse, please do avoid reading this chapter, thank you and enjoy!!

The Marauders’ map had never lied before. Harry had found Draco’s dot sitting in the boys’ bathroom and immediately made the trek to get there. He needed to say something to Draco. It would be so easy, if only he knew what to say.

He had never been very good with words. If anything, the words usually found him, rather than the other way around. What were you even supposed to say to someone who just confessed to you? Acceptance would be a good place to start, his mind prompted.

However, Harry was still stuck on the fact that he wasn’t actually as straight as he thought, and that Ginny wouldn’t take it too well if he broke up with her for Draco Malfoy, of all people. His mind kept on providing various suggestions – none however which were feasible or rational. The only suitable ones – which Harry had deemed plausible – were moving to America or pitching himself off of the Astronomy Tower.

Both options didn’t seem quite as inviting as Draco’s lips, his mind helpfully provided once again and Harry groaned in frustration. He took off his glasses and scrunched his eyes shut, massaging the bridge of his nose. He really needed to get his mind sorted out before doing anything else.  
He wondered how long Draco had been harbouring these feelings, if the thought of Harry kept him up at night. Did Draco masturbate thinking about him? Harry gagged at the thought, not sure whether it was a turn on or turn off. His mind happily supplied an image of Draco – eyes shut, head thrown back, mouthing Harry’s name in time with thrusting into his own hand. Harry felt himself flush at the erotic image. He put the thought away for later revisiting.

Sure he’d found Draco attractive during their previous years together and maybe he had tossed off to the thought on Draco on his knees on more than a few occasions, but he had attributed that to hormonal imbalances caused by puberty. If only he could blame his current feelings on puberty. That would make things so much easier to accept. But the things he was feeling were all on their own accord, revealing themselves as if they had always been there, hidden in plain sight.

A sharp right turn brought Harry to the entrance of the boys’ bathroom and he walked in, tiptoeing even though he had no need to. This was a public place, he didn’t need to act as if he was intruding. His gut clenched as he slowly closed the door, willing it not to creak, muffled noises leading Harry towards what he hoped to be Draco.

“Why are you so stupid, Malfoy? You can’t do a single fucking thing right.” The glint of something silver caught Harry’s eye as he turned the corner and saw the sharp edge of a razor blade pierce the porcelain skin of the blond. Blood pushed itself out of the gash, beads of it trickling down his wrist and staining the floor. Harry gasped, covering his mouth with his hand as his mind processed what was going on. It didn’t add up.

His eyes followed the crimson droplets – thick and fat – bubbling as if a mountain spring out of the gash. Harry had seen worse injuries during the War – broken bones, dismembered limbs, charred flesh – but the sight of Draco’s wrist made his breakfast threaten to resurface. He swallowed hastily, blowing his cover and exposing himself.

What was he supposed to do? He had never come to face with anything like this. What was the appropriate response? Was he supposed to get Madam Pomfrey? Draco’s tear-stained face looked up, seeing Harry as if he were not there. Harry felt like a window in that moment, always looked through, never looked at, even though it always protected you from the worst of things.

He made to move forward, but a sharp wince from Draco made him retreat, standing at the edge, just looking. The contrast in images made Harry nauseated.

This was almost like a mirror of 6th year, when he’d hit Draco with a _sectumsempra_ and the Slytherin was left bleeding on the bathroom floor. While this scene was infinitely different from that one, the same blood, pain and anguish of the pale boy made Harry sick.

Though Gryffindor courage could accomplish many things, this was not one of them. He stood stoically at the fringe, staring at Draco who still seemed to be in his own haze of incomprehensibility, looking down at the juxtaposition of the porcelain boy and his crimson blood.

Where Gryffindor bravery failed, Harry’s instincts took hold of him and he clumsily made his way over to the boy who looked like he was just about to grasp the fact that Harry was standing before him. He picked up the arm, bloody as it was and held it limply, the soft whimpers of Draco, a deafening sound in his ears.

 _Why?_ was the only thought his brain could formulate, so he voiced it, though it coming out more like a croak than a question, was beside the point. Draco just shrugged his shoulders, laughing mirthlessly as the blood continued to dribble down onto the floor. If only Hermione were here, she’d know exactly what to do.

Harry fumbled with his wand, bringing it out and muttering what Snape had as a counter-curse to the _sectumsempra_.

“ _Vulnera Sanentu_ ,” Harry whispered, directing the flow of magic to Draco’s wrists. The wound closed up, a soft sigh permeating the tense air as Draco closed his eyes. Whispering a _tergeo_ , the blood on Draco’s wrist disappeared, leaving the scarred skin behind. Harry winced at the sight. Draco smiled up at him, smiling though it had no mirth and didn’t reach his eyes. “My saviour,” he cooed, lifting up his hand to cup Harry’s cheek, though the touch was too light for Harry to fully process.

“Why would you do that to yourself?” Harry asked, the answer the already beginning to scare him without being uttered. “I needed to be punished for being so stupid and naive,” he said matter-of-factly, waving his hand, drawing lazy circles in the air. Harry opened his mouth to say something – anything – but all that came out was silence, the words of comfort, clogging his throat and making him choke.

“I know you must think that I’m pathetic, and I already know that,” Draco said, still smiling, eyes dead as he stared into Harry’s own. “You’re not, so don’t you ever say that,” Harry whispered, pressing a kiss onto Draco’s forehead. Draco hummed, the sound reverberating through Harry’s entire being.

Harry picked Draco up bridal style, the Slytherin weighing no more than his pillow. “You know I can walk, right?” Draco quipped, colour beginning to return to his face. Harry flushed, setting him down on his feet. Draco bowed mockingly and began to stride off, leaving Harry to trail behind like a helpless dog.

“Why are you following me?” Draco asked, not bothering to turn back and spare a mere glance at Harry. Harry stumbled – over his words and over his feet. The gravel on his skin brought his mind back from the haze of the bathroom, the blood of Draco’s wrists, the turmoil of his being. He swallowed and pushed himself up to find Draco crouched down, head tilted, eyes wide with curiosity. “You could’ve died.” Draco chuckled, the distending sound echoing around the empty corridor. When Draco realised that Harry wasn’t amused, he stopped sharply, his face seeming to darken despite the sunlight illuminating his face is false happiness.

“Well at least I would’ve done one thing right in my life,” he mused bitterly, admiring the scars on his wrist and promptly standing up and walking away. Harry jumped to his feet and spun Draco around, to the Slytherin’s discomfort. “You did the right thing by keeping me alive at Malfoy Manor, don’t think I’ve forgotten,” Harry said, pressing Draco against a wall.

Draco swallowed nervously, tongue peeking out to wet his lips. Harry picked up Draco’s arm, pushing back his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark. “This isn’t who you are – it doesn’t define you,” Harry whispered, placing a delicate kiss on Draco’s dark mark. Harry felt him shudder beneath his touch and his mind revelled in the thought.

Something flashed in Harry’s mind, and without a second thought, he voiced it. “It would be a shame if you killed yourself. I don’t think I could stand to live another moment without your lips,” Harry said, hoping that Draco wouldn’t notice the desperation in his voice. Draco blinked rapidly, eyes fluttering from Harry’s lips to his eyes, the silver irises making connections that Harry couldn’t see.

Draco leaned forward pressing his lips onto Harry’s. The sensation felt like a shot of adrenaline through his veins. Draco tentatively pushed his tongue into Harry’s mouth, tasting Harry like a delicacy. Harry pressed forward, pinning Draco firmly against the wall. Draco moaned softly into the kiss as Harry pulled lightly on the blond’s hair.

They broke apart, both heaving, their faces flushed with the rush of newfound emotions. “So you love me, eh?” Harry smiled teasingly, leaning forward to nip Draco’s earlobe. Draco trembled under Harry’s ministrations. “I think you’re the first person I’ve felt like this for,” Draco confessed quietly, cheeks reddening more than they were already.

Harry traced Draco’s Dark Mark aimlessly, before realising that Draco was expecting some sort of answer or reaction from him. He looked up slowly, and took Draco’s face in his hands. “This is as new to me as it is to you,” Harry confessed, wincing at the raw truth in his words. At that moment, Draco’s eyes didn’t look as dead as they had before, there was something else shining behind the mask of distrust he wore and that made Harry curious.

“I heard that the eight-year Slytherins have private dorms. I wouldn’t mind taking this conversation to somewhere a little more private,” Harry whispered huskily. Draco nodded violently, desperation and desire displayed plainly on his face. Harry took Draco’s hand gingerly, accustoming himself to the feel of the blond’s hand in his own. Draco’s hand was cold in contrast to his warmth and he smiled stupidly at their contrasting elements.

He would love to be the fire that thawed Draco’s frozen heart. Maybe he would be the one to save Draco from himself. Maybe he could be the light shining through the darkness that Draco had shrouded himself in. He sidled up to Draco’s side, letting Draco leech warmth from his body. “You’re so cold, Draco. Come closer,” Harry said lightly.

Draco nodded dumbly, pressing closer into Harry’s side. Harry had never seen the Slytherin so flustered before. “You’re so cute like this,” Harry said, kissing Draco on the cheek, causing the pale boy to flush with colour once again. “We’re going to my room, _just_ to talk?” Draco asked hesitantly, though he seemed to be chiding himself immediately after.

The Slytherin was absently chewing his bottom lip, staring devotedly into Harry’s eyes. “Maybe, maybe not. It really depends how the conversation goes,” Harry deliberated, smiling slyly at the Slytherin. Draco smiled indulgently, pressing his face into the crook of Harry’s neck. The warm breath tickled his neck, a steady reminder that he had attached himself to Draco.

Now his only problem was finding a way to break it to Ginny. It was more of impossible task, than a problem however. He cringed at the thought. “What about Ginny? How are you going to break it to her?” Draco asked, almost as if he could read Harry’s mind. “I’ll think of something. I‘ve handled worse anyway,” Harry answered, shrugging nonchalantly, laughing pathetically at his own joke.

“Okay,” Draco said, dropping the subject as immediately as he had started it as if he could physically feel Harry’s discomfort. Harry had expected more objection on the matter, but Draco just resumed resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, as if the world hadn’t just spun off its axis. He pushed Ginny out of his mind – at least for now – and gripped Draco’s hand tighter as they made their way towards the dungeons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me set things straight, I am in no way trying to romanticise or glamorise or encourage self-harm. This is a work of fiction and please don’t condemn me and say this is unhealthy, because at this point, I know it is, because I intended for this to be slightly dubious because they are both broken, what a concept! Their ‘relationship’ is not perfect at the moment, and please please please understand that there is a lot more to the story and a shit ton more development that I haven’t touched on yet, so please don’t trash me in the comments. Also, before you say that I’m a horrible person for writing something like this and exposing people to self-harm, let me remind you that many people, including me, read Killing Stalking and are not inspired to become serial killers, thank you!!
> 
> okay so I’m honestly sorry if I come off as really rude, but I hate when people trash something that I, or anyone else, worked really hard on for stupid reasons like “Oh they spelt one word wrong! Let me condemn the whole story!” I am aware that I’m writing something controversial, but if you do enjoy the story so far, please leave kudos and comment because constructive criticism is always wonderful.


	8. In Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again I humbly ask your forgiveness for making you wait so long

Harry gaped at Draco’s room. The four-poster bed took up the majority of the space, the huge canopy bed seeming grandiose compared to his own. There was a small vanity set to the side, overshadowed by the enormous desk covered completely in parchment and books of various thickness. The side table was also covered in books and Harry was eerily reminded of Hermione.

The room’s colour scheme was the obvious deep emerald green of Slytherin – as seen through the silk sheets of the bed - though Draco had apparently added his own subtle touches, such as Quidditch posters and newspaper clippings covering the walls. Harry noted that there were no pictures of his family anywhere and he wondered whether Draco was secretly ashamed of being associated with Death Eaters – no matter that he previously was one – now that the War was over.

Harry sat onto the bed, trailing his hands along the luxurious silken sheets. Draco gingerly stepped around him, taking a seat at the chair at his desk, placing his hands in his laps as he worried with his cuffs. “I find it highly unfair that the Slytherins get their own private dorms while us Gryffindors don’t have a single moment of privacy.” Draco continued staring down at his lap, studying his hands as if they held the cure for cancer. “I mean if I have to wake up one more time because Dean and Seamus can’t be bothered to cast a simple _muffliato_ , then I might seriously consider rooming with you,” Harry continued, glancing around the room.

This caused Draco to perk up. “Dean and Seamus?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. Harry congratulated himself for getting Draco interested and continued airily. “Yeah, didn’t you know? They’ve been an item for quite a while now. I love them to bits – really – but they should at least be aware that some of us want to sleep at night instead of hearing their moans,” Harry said, blanching as he replayed the memory.

When Dean and Seamus had decided to let slip that they were dating – which everyone had already known – it had been relatively uneventful, other than few suggestive winks and elbowing from the rest of their dorm mates. They weren’t the most openly affectionate couple, but Harry had caught them snogging in discreet alcoves on more than one occasion.

It had been another mundane night and Harry had been abruptly awoken, the last fragments of his nightmare clinging to him. When he heard a grunt, he’d stiffened and took out his wand, aiming it into the darkness as he fumbled with his glasses. The darkness made him wary and closing his eyes did nothing to alleviate his fears.

His heart beating erratically, he located the noise and to his abject horror, realised it was Dean and Seamus. He immediately felt that he was intruding upon their intimate moment as he felt his cheeks heat. He scrunched his eyes shut, willing himself to erase the image from his head. He had a dismal view of Seamus, back faced to him, in Dean’s lap as the smaller boy rolled his hips, arching his back and moaning sporadically. He prayed to whatever higher entity was listening that Dean who was facing him, wouldn’t notice that he had suddenly shot up in bed.

He quickly lay back down, pulling the covers up over his head despite the stuffy room that seemed almost too hot in that moment. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he reminded himself. This was his room as much as it was theirs and if he woke up while they were having sex, it was in no way his fault.

Their groans and pants sped up, the slap of skin against skin disrupting Harry’s thoughts. He felt restless under the covers, his feet itching to move anywhere except here. He willed them to finish soon, if only it would grant him reprieve from this unintentional voyeurism. Hearing an echo of shouts, Harry realised that the pair must have climaxed and heaved a sigh of relief. The rustling of sheets confirmed his suspicions that they were finally done, and he rolled over uncomfortably to realise that he had another problem.

He was embarrassingly hard and no matter how much  he wished it to go away, it stood proudly erect, straining against the fabric of his boxers. It was almost a physical blow to him as he realised that he had gotten turned on by his two best friends having sex. It felt like a betrayal of their trust and he hated how it made him feel. He’d closed his eyes and forced himself to go to sleep despite the hard-on he was sporting.

The memories and embarrassment were still fresh in his mind, and he felt Draco’s eyes on him as he vanquished the thought from his mind. Draco’s head was angled slightly and the sight of the pale unmarred neck made all sorts of inappropriate thoughts rush through his already crowded head. He hadn’t come here for that. Harry felt almost angry with himself for deigning to think that when Draco was so broken and fragile.

Draco, however made the decision for him, and strode across the room to settle in Harry’s lap. A choked noise escaped Harry’s throat as his mind struggled to process what was happening. The simple illogical thought that he was going insane flitted through his mind on a victory lap that Harry was beginning to acknowledge. Draco almost looked at ease, seated atop Harry like he were a jockey atop his prized stallion.

The comparison made Harry uneasy as he pushed himself out from under Draco and nearly flopped onto the floor. Draco frowned, but composed himself almost instantly and left Harry wondering whether maybe they both were heading down the path to insanity together. A jolt of longing streaked through his veins and Harry had half a mind to just leave the room, the pressure of being underground finally getting to him.

The same restlessness he had felt watching Dean and Seamus came back like an infection and his leg tapped impatiently against the cobbled floor. He sought satisfaction and the buzz in his head refused to die down. But that was wrong. He couldn’t just take advantage of Draco like that. He was almost completely sure that Draco wouldn’t dissuade him if he asked and the thought unnerved him.

Dismissing the inapt moment of their combined insanity, Harry steered clear of mentioning it at all and settled upon a much less dreary topic.

He righted himself and shifted closer to Draco, taking his arm in his hand and pushing to the sleeve to reveal a criss-cross of scars marring the pale skin. He lightly dragged his finger across it, before bringing his lips down to kiss each scar. The scene was strangely erotic and he hoped that Draco didn’t interpret it the wrong way.

Harry looked up to find Draco stoic, tears sliding down his face as he watched Harry hypnotically. “Why are you crying?” Harry asked, pushing a stray lock of hair behind Draco’s ears – a habit that he seemed to have developed over the short period of time. Draco too seemed accustomed to it, leaning unconsciously into the tender touch. Draco shook his head, a weak smile forming on his lips. “I never want to see you sad again, got that, Draco? I understand that this may be something you’re unwilling to talk about, but I want you to be able to trust me. I want to be the one who you can tell anything to – the one who knows you inside and out.”

“I don’t think I can promise you that, Harry. You’d like to hear about what’s _inside_ me? I don’t think you’d be able to look at me anymore if you knew,” Draco countered, no frivolity in his voice. “I want to help you,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hand and interlacing their fingers. Draco’s bottom lip trembled, a sign that he was going to break down any moment. Harry’s internal workings panicked and he did the only thing he knew how to.

He kissed Draco, pressing his lips firmly against the blond’s. Draco melted into the kiss like he had before, cautiously placing his hands on Harry’s waist. Harry became more desperate, deepening the kiss and slowly sliding his tongue into Draco’s mouth. The blond responded in fervour, his grip tightening on Harry ever so slightly. Then, it stopped.

Draco pushed Harry away, breathing hard as he caught his breath. “We can’t,” he whispered. “I think you need to leave, Harry,” he said, the words more a request than a demand. Harry made to protest, but the sight of Draco so undone, stopped him. He would leave the blond to his own thoughts, if only it would convince the Slytherin that he needed Harry more than he admitted. “If I leave now, I don’t know if I’ll come back,” Harry shot back nonchalantly, standing to leave.

A hand grabbed his own and the words came and Harry smiled to himself. He sat back down on the bed. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to, I just want to be there for you, Draco. I’m scared that if I leave you here, you’ll just break, and I don’t think I could handle that.” Draco nodded along, hanging onto every word uttered like a lifeline. Harry felt satisfaction creep into him at Draco’s devotion.

He cupped Draco’s face and kissed his forehead, then his lips. “Do you want to tell me why you’d hurt yourself like this?” Harry asked, slightly pressuring Draco to give him an answers. Draco nodded more resolutely this time, shoulders slumping as he braced himself to open himself up to Harry. Harry tried not to seem to eager and was quite sure he was failing, though Draco seemed to be paying more attention to his Dark Mark than anything.

“It probably started after the War – the self-harm. It started off as something intentional, but after a while I tried to stop, but it’s like an addiction. It’s like I __need__  to do it to stay sane.” Harry’s mind unwillingly conjured up a grotesque image of Draco carving his arm in the boys’ bathroom, eyes red as his wrist as the blood dripped onto the cobbled floor. He shivered involuntarily. Draco laughed without mirth, a sharp tinny sound that echoed unnaturally around the room. Harry looked up, stopping himself from shifting back when he saw a deranged twinkle in Draco's eyes.

“I did it to punish myself, because I deserve it. Which _fucking_ asshole joins the Dark Side? I have no control over my life, but at least I could control this. Everyone around me has hurt me, so why can’t I hurt myself? At least bleeding makes me feel something in this worthless mortality,” Draco spat, white-knuckled hands fisting his sheets. “It’s not your fault,” Harry said almost automatically, though Draco’s rage was still simmering inside him, unwilling to settle.

“I could have run! I could have fought! I could have done _something_! He was right there, parading around my house like a a _fucking_ peacock – I could have sacrificed myself and killed us both! My life’s worthless anyway, at least dying would have made a difference!” Draco choked out, tears streaming unbounded down is cheeks, dampening his sheets and clothes. Harry frowned, his tongue numb in his mouth, unable to form words. He sat there, next to Draco, letting the Slytherin collapse as he watched, unmoving.

"Your death would’ve been futile. I’m the only one who could’ve killed him. I was his horcrux, without my death, nobody would’ve been able to stop him.” “But I could have tried – I could have weakened him!” Draco managed to whimper, sobs wracking his body, his body shaking as Harry hesitantly slid his arm and pulled Draco into his embrace. “At least you're alive, Draco, be happy for it,” Harry whispered. “Don’t you understand, Harry,” Draco said, sitting straight and glaring into Harry’s eyes with intensity. “I don’t want to live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you enjoyed this chapter, please leave kudos and I'm always looking forward to your comments ;))


	9. In Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi I am back with another chapter and I hope it makes up for the super long wait,, and its actually a bit longer than the usual and okay so I actually have a reason for taking so long, but it was because of exams and then I fell really sick so I couldn't possibly have enough time to sit and write this, but at least it's here now so please enjoy!!

Harry felt like he was falling. The words felt like a a physical punch to his stomach. Draco was almost as if a mirror of himself – an uncanny reflection. He’d thought the very same thoughts during the War. Maybe that’s what had made it so easy to accept death to save everyone. Only the adrenaline of finally killing Voldemort had been able to rid his mind of such thoughts.

Draco was still staring straight at him and he pulled the Slytherin back into his embrace, no words powerful enough or remotely sufficient to change the Slytherin’s mind. But maybe actions would. He had tethered himself to Draco and that was at least a start to revive the blond’s love for life.

Harry lay them down on the bed, arms still wrapped around Draco as he planted soft soothing kisses on his forehead. The blond whimpered as he pressed himself against Harry’s body, making a home in the curve of Harry’s torso. “Sleep,” said Harry, the only logical thought in Harry’s arsenal. The Slytherin nodded, then mumbled something incoherent that Harry’s exhaustion addled mind couldn’t pick up.

“Stay with me tonight,” said Draco louder, more to himself than to Harry. “Okay,” Harry answered, or maybe he didn’t. The day had drained him and no amount of willpower would get him back to his bed in Gryffindor Tower anyway. And Draco’s bed was infinitely more comfortable and smelled vaguely of Draco - peppermint, faint cologne and old tomes.

Harry wrapped himself deeper in the scent of the Slytherin, inhaling deeply so as to commit the smell to memory. The scent itself was soft, sweet and artful, more likely belonging to a kindly librarian than the damaged boy ensconced in his arms. “Why do you smell so good?” Harry mumbled into Draco’s hairline and he swore the blond snorted, but he really couldn’t be sure with the way his mind was.

His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed as Draco slid his arms around him, pulling him closer. It almost felt __safe__. A lull of peace that he hadn't felt in a long time, restored to him by a boy who hated life so much that he sought the sweet kiss of death. Harry’s mind puzzled over it, but not for long as he slowly fell into a slumber that seemed to have been waiting for him since the War ended.

* * *

 

His eyes opened to the harsh darkness, his chest heaving, the black canvas only broken by twin pools of silver staring at him. Harry jumped back, fumbling for his wand in defense against the intruder in his bed. The figure clucked in annoyance, moving forward and whispering honeyed words into Harry’s hair. “It’s only me, Harry,” said the figure, voice lilting though it was tinged with exhaustion and something else Harry couldn’t define.

“Draco,” Harry exhaled shakily, burrowing further into the Slytherin’s warmth. Draco pulled the covers more snugly over them, allowing Harry to seek shelter under the covers and in his own arms. Harry happily obliged, but the nightmare still clung resolutely to him, causing him to shiver.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Draco asked hesitantly, leaving it open for Harry to pick up or not. Harry shook his head violently, words eluding him. Draco nodded understandingly and pulled Harry closer.

He was trembling ever so slightly, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to him. Draco ran a hand through his hair. The action comforted him in ways he couldn’t fathom and he nuzzled Draco’s jaw.

The Slytherin swore softly, and Harry, directing his breath onto Draco’s neck. He felt the blond inhale sharply, his chest rising against his body, his muscles tensed. He moved closer, running a light hand along the curve of Draco’s spine.

His breath hitched and his eyes jolted open, the silver pair staring into him.

However, in this moment, his eyes were black, dilated and ringed with silver – uncharacteristic since they were in the dark – and Harry puzzled over them for a moment.

He moved forward again, letting his hot breath wash over Draco’s neck. He wondered if he would see the pale boy flushed crimson if the lights were on. He let his nose graze along the column of Draco’s neck, inhaling as he went along, Draco fidgeting as he did.

It was in pure selfish gratification that Harry teased Draco. Draco pressed closer, probably eager to get Harry’s mouth on him, but Harry didn’t allow it. He smirked, then after a few grunts from the blond, laved his tongue along the column of pale flesh.

It tasted of sweat and lust and longing and Harry licked up the flavour greedily. The bittersweet taste flooded his mouth and his body and his mind. Draco shuddered next to him, back arching against his fingers still dancing along his spine, his hands firm on Harry’s shoulders.

His hands dipped down, following the curve of his body down to the small of his back where he traced small careless circles. Draco was now making animalistic noises, causing Harry’s fingers to match pace with his mouth.

“Harry,” he whimpered shakily, a single word afloat in the room, probably unable to hold out against the attack on his body any longer. Harry indulged him, pressing his lips against Draco’s neck – sucking the skin, biting it till Draco’s breathing was ragged, running his tongue over it before he moved on.

Draco was a mess beneath him, the war of emotions on his face a ravenous scene that Harry wanted to devour, control, soothe. Only could he give relief and refuge and reprieve to this broken boy. Only him – and he reveled in the thought, like a snake constraining its prey.

He moved with grace, hovering over Draco, confining him under his body.  Draco reached up and cupped Harry’s face, pulling him down, until their lips were pressed together in a heated passion. It had never once been this fiery with Ginny. The kisses he had shared with her were tentative and gentle, almost as if the breeze were kissing her lips instead.

Kissing Draco was like a thunderstorm. It was all rage and desperation and desire. Harry could almost feel the electricity crackling between their bodies. Or maybe that was just the raw magic rolling off him – he couldn’t really tell. Some people found it intoxicating to be around him when he didn’t have it under control – it made them nauseated – but Draco didn’t even seem to notice it.

Draco’s hands were now on his waist, eager yet tentative and Harry stilled when he registered what Draco was so uncertain of. Draco cocked his head then seemed to wither almost instantly – like a mimosa or if Harry knew better, a Venus fly trap.

“Do you really want to do this?” Harry asked, lowering himself onto Draco and nibbling on his earlobe as he did. Draco arched painfully upwards and a hardness brushed against Harry’s thigh. He smirked, pulling the earlobe hard. “Someone’s a bit too eager, aren’t they?” Harry whispered huskily. Draco whimpered, a sound Harry realised was all too erotic for no apparent reason he could decipher.

“I’ve done this before,” Draco blurted out, then immediately shut his mouth, like the air just got sucked out of him. Harry pondered this and jealously uncoiled inside him, a rare thing he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Who was it?” he asked tersely, seething rage boiling over.

“A Durmstrang boy that I cant remember anymore,” Draco said offhandedly, clearly trying to steer the conversation away. The way Draco said it like it didn’t mean anything mellowed Harry down significantly, then he remembered that he wasn’t quite sure why he was feeling jealous. Clearly this situation was getting to him.

He tried to pull away, but Draco clung stubbornly to him, almost like Colin Creevey in Second Year and his heart ached at the loss of the younger boy. Feeling dejected and reminiscent, Harry rolled off Draco and lay down, putting a hand to his forehead.

The mood changed immediately, and Draco rolled over, a pained expression his face. “Are you alright?” he asked, pulling Harry into his arms as he did. He nodded, though the images of the fallen plagued him, playing like a noir film. Draco seemed to sense this and kissed Harry’s forehead lightly, the only comfort he could give.

Harry felt that sense of ease and comfort again and he almost wished that it was always like this. While his intentions had been to help Draco, the broken boy seemed to perhaps be healing him as well. Draco’s hard-on pressing against him, however provided a distraction that he sorely need at the moment, despite the pounding in his head and the tears that were prickling his eyes.

He topped Draco with finesse, stunning the pale boy, whose eyes were stricken with weariness and concern. He artfully rid Draco of his clothes with no more than a few whispered words, causing the Slytherin to gaze up in awe, his mastery over wandless magic a carefully planned surprise.

He rid himself of his own clothes – manually – kneeling between Draco’s parted legs. He made a show of it, an elegant striptease that left Draco’s hands twitching as well as his erect cock, which was now leaking precum onto the flat expanse of his stomach. He finished his performance by tossing his underwear over his shoulder, not bothering where it landed. Draco inhaled sharply at this, eyes following the article of clothing as it fell somewhere behind him.

Draco flipped over onto his stomach before Harry could propose a question, propped up on his elbows, arse in the air. Harry frowned and Draco seeming to sense this, turned around and said as if he were educating a preschooler, “You need to stretch me first.”

“Unless you prefer I do it myself,” he added almost as an afterthought, slowly lowering himself down. “No, it’s okay, I’ll do it. Where’s the –” he started, getting cut off as Draco thrust a a vial into his hand. It was filled a clear liquid, and upon opening it, realised that it smelled vaguely like lavender.

Harry felt himself flush as he coated his fingers in the viscous substance, then gently circled Draco’s opening. Draco pushed back insistently, urging Harry to do more. Harry slowly pushed one finger in, breaching the tense circle of sphincter muscles. He pushed in experimentally, moving it around, then decided to enter another.

He pushed in all the way, feeling Draco loosen around him. He curled his fingers and Draco arched painfully on the bed, causing Harry to extricate his fingers immediately. “I’m fine, it’s just that you hit my prostate and it felt really good,” Draco said matter-of-factly, faced pressed against the bed, eyes shut tightly. Harry nodded, then pressed the two fingers in again, scissoring them before adding a third.

Draco was now rocking his hips backwards, his arse sucking up Harry’s fingers greedily. “I think you can put it in now.” Harry extracted his fingers, then used the the rest of the solution to lather his painfully hard cock. He pressed against Draco’s opening, and before the blond could begin to protest, pushed into him in one languid motion.

Draco inhaled sharply, the sound discordant in his ears. The words were on lips in a second, but soon realised that he had no lucidity to form words. It felt so __good__. The all-encompassing tightness, and heat and slickness – it felt __ethereal__. He wondered why he’d waited so long to feel this pleasure coursing through his veins.

And then a soft sound edging on his bliss, a whimper, a silent plea from Draco to move, so Harry obliged. He thrust in hard, his hips slamming against Draco’s fragile frame. He placed his hands on Draco's hips, leveraging himself and grounding him at the same time. He’d barely started but he already felt himself so close.

His thrusts became erratic and intentional, burrowing deep inside Draco each time. Draco’s moans in addition to his own penetrated the air, making it heavy with the scent of sex, sweat and outcries. Draco's hand were fisted in the sheets, his sweat-slicked body sliding against the silk of his sheets.

Through his sex-addled haze, he noticed Draco’s hand reach to stroke himself and Harry reached down and swatted it away. He ran his hand along Draco’s cock, from base to tip, eliciting a sweet string of expletives from the blond. He thumbed Draco’s slit, causing the boy beneath him to beg.

His hand soon pumped in time with his trusts, getting steadily faster. Draco’s head suddenly shot up and he started gasping. “Yes, yes, there, please, _Harry_!” and his name on Draco’s lips nearly caused him to spill inside the blond. He pulled out and thrust in again, aiming for that spot that made Draco cry out his name like a litany to the heavens.

He felt Draco’s walls tightening around, his words getting garbled and incoherent as Draco pressed his face in the bed, white-knuckled hands fisting the silk sheets as if he were holding on for his life, his body rocking as Harry ruthlessly thrust into him.

Draco came, his mouth parted in a silent scream, his eyes rolled back till only the whites of it could be seen. Harry felt Draco’s cum drip onto his hand, the body beneath him becoming lax. The sight itself, combined with Draco’s walls contracting around him, made Harry jerk and come deep inside Draco without warning. Their bodies shuddered together and Harry thrust – once, twice – through his orgasm, before stilling inside the blond.

He threw his head back, Draco’s walls still squeezing him dry, his cock now gone soft and limp. He slipped out and reached for his wand, casting a quick _scourgify_  before flopping onto the bed, his energy all but spent.

Draco's breath steadied, though still coming out in short pants. He flopped onto the bed and locked eyes with Harry, his eyes vibrant as they darted over Harry's face. They were _alive_ , and for once Harry felt that maybe he was doing something for the Slytherin. Harry ran his hand through Draco's hair, hand coming to rest on his nape as he pulled the blond in for a kiss.

Their lips melted together, like liquid in a cauldron and Harry pushed his tongue forward, eager to explore Draco's mouth once again. That faint peppermint taste still lingered in his mouth despite the time elapsed and Harry savoured the taste – licking every inch of Draco’s mouth as their tongues swept against each other like a pre-rehearsed dance.

His eyes closed as if on instinct and he was feeling with his hands, his tongue, his body. Draco moaned softly against his mouth and he felt his limp cock twitch in interest at the sound. He ran his fingers through the short hairs on Draco’s neck, moving up and then pulling his hair lightly. Draco made a sound akin to a mewl and that’s all it took for Harry to succumb to his basest desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be very honest, I wasn't planning for them to have sex in this chapter at all (because I'm evil and was planning to make you wait), but it just flowed so well and this chapter just wrote itself and I'm pretty sure this story is taking its own course lmao, but at least you guys were blessed with a sexy scene haha
> 
> if you enjoyed what you've read, pleas do leave kudos and maybe comment


	10. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *chants* angst, angst, angst  
> also I'm horrendous at characterising Ginny Weasley if you haven't noticed and she's obviously OOC in this fic so please forgive my sorry and somewhat lazy writing for this chapter, I'm not proud if it so feel free to bash me in the comments

Harry woke up feeling disoriented. The lack of morning light while a welcome reprieve, made him wake up to near darkness and nearly retch over the side of the bed in horror. The setting was eerily like when he was held prisoner in Malfoy Manor, and the similarities unnerved him. However, unlike Malfoy Manor, the surface beneath him was soft and the pressure of a familiar body that was pressed against his own proved otherwise.

Draco’s body emanated heat, combating the bite of the frigid air that always seemed to plague the underbelly of Hogwarts. Harry turned over, pulling the blanket over him more snugly, letting body heat and proximity warm him up.

His shifting must not have been subtle, because Draco stretched languidly, almost akin to that of a cat and rubbed his eyes to alertness. Harry couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. “Mornin’,” Draco said, through a series of yawns that suggested that he wasn’t entirely awake yet, a lazy smile stretching his lips.

“How long have you wanted me?” Harry asked cheerily in contrast to the gloomy atmosphere, propping his head up with his hand right off the bat. Draco rolled over, rubbing his eyes lazily, the silver irises being shadowed by his long, almost transparent lashes. Draco groaned, promptly turning over and pulling the covers over his head.

“Must we really start this so early in the morning? Malfoys are not morning people and I don’t know about you, but I still haven't fully recovered from last night.” Harry felt himself flush at the admission. He nudged Draco, pulling the covers down to reveal the pale expanse of the Slytherin’s nape. He pressed a small kiss, then sucked the skin till it bloomed red. Draco let out a shaky moan then turned around, lips pouting. Harry gave him a lopsided smile, lackadaisical in all senses.

“That’s hardly fair,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he did. “Did you know that you are extremely cute when you pout. _That_  is what’s hardly fair. It’s entirely disarming and Hermione says I look like a monkey when I try to pout,” Harry countered, tracing a finger across Draco’s bottom lip.

The Slytherin’s cheeks flushed in the dim brightness of the room.Draco, clearly trying to gain the upper hand, sucked Harry’s finger into his mouth, laving his tongue over it and then biting it with a smirk at Harry’s obviously flustered expression. Harry was mesmerised, but immediately pulled out his finger and staring at the layer of spit that covered it. “Stop avoiding the question,” Harry huffed, pressing the spit-slicked finger on Draco’s exposed nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from the blond.

Draco, having given up on avoiding the question answered in a string of words that Harry’s mind raced to process. “I think it really started after the Triwizard Tournament, when Cedric died. Through the whole thing – you have to know, I only was joking about you dying and then when Cedric died and I saw you crying over his body, I realised that I would rather die than see your lifeless body. Though I’m pretty sure I was obsessed with you since I heard your name,” Draco confessed quietly, blushing as he buried his head in his pillow. “Merlin, this is so stupid,” Draco said, voice muffled, ears pink.

“No, it’s extremely adorable. I only wish that you’d have told me sooner,” Harry answered, pulling Draco’s face to his, pressing a soft kiss on the blond’s lips. He felt Draco melt into the kiss and the blond’s hesitant touch on his back. Harry deepened the kiss, loving the way he dominated the kiss, and the way it made him feel. He could get used to waking up to this every morning.

* * *

 

“I won’t be going around with that uncouth hair of yours,” Draco snorted, brows furrowed in disapproval. “You know you love it,” Harry whispered huskily against Draco’s ear, nipping his earlobe as he pulled away. Draco had stiffened and he was swallowing visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Harry chuckled, pushing a stray strand of pale blond hair behind Draco’s ear, licking the shell of his ear as he did. “I’ll comb it if you insist,” Harry said, licking his lips devilishly as he pulled away.

Draco rolled his eyes and continued buttoning his shirt. The thin material clung to Draco’s body, accentuating the lean muscles and curves that he’d worshiped just last night. He moved forward, pressing himself against the curve of Draco’s back, looping his arms around the blond’s waist and pulling him flush against his own body.

Draco let out an incoherent sound that threw Harry into a fit of giggles. The Slytherin tensed up, then slowly exhaled, letting his muscles uncoil. “I’ll see you after school,” Harry said, already making to leave, pressing a chaste kiss behind Draco’s ear – a tender spot he’d discovered last night – causing the blond to shiver ever so slightly against him.

“Remember our deal though,” he started as he walked towards the door, the Invisibility Cloak slung over his shoulder. “You can’t tell anybody about this – about _us_. I mean at least until I tell Ginny that it’s over between me and her,” he added offhandedly, and he swore he saw Draco’s smile drop as he closed the door behind him with finality.

* * *

 

Harry pulled his Invisibility cloak off him and haphazardly stuffed it into his drawer along with the Marauders’ Map. “Where were you last night, mate?” asked Ron, putting a hand on his shoulder. Harry jumped at the sudden contact. He smiled sheepishly and turned around to face his best friend.

“Oh, I was just…” Harry started, trailing off before coming up empty. He hadn’t prepared an excuse, and honestly he hadn’t even expected Ron – or anyone else for that matter – to notice his disappearance. “Was it another nightmare?” Ron asked, lowering his voice, eyes darting across the room, looking around to make sure nobody else heard, regardless that the whole dorm already knew about them. “Yeah,” Harry answered a bit too enthusiastically, before lowering his tone and trying to look stricken. “I couldn’t sleep after, so I just took the Cloak and wandered around the corridors until dawn.”

That wasn’t a complete lie. He _had_  had a nightmare and he _had_  been unable to sleep immediately after. Ron however didn’t seem to see through the lie and he sighed inwardly. “If you ever need company, just let me know,” Ron said, patting Harry on the back before turning back to head downstairs, while adjusting his tie. Harry found himself nodding again as Ron left the room.

Should he have told Ron that he had been with Draco? No, Ron would’ve killed him if he found out he was cheating on his sister. Which reminded him that he needed to break up with Ginny. Surely that wouldn't be such a difficult task. Ginny was a reasonable witch, she would see that they hadn't been working out and that Harry was freeing her from the shambles of a relationship that never meant to be. Yeah, this would go fine.

* * *

 

This was going anything _but_  fine. Maybe he shouldn't have decided to break up with her right before they went into the Great Hall. Then, he wouldn't have to suffer through the agony of sitting at the same table as her as she alternated between sniffling and then staring blankly ahead and mumbling to herself.

If her reaction had been violent, Harry felt that he would've been able to handle it much more effectually than he was now – solemnly eating his bland porridge, too scared to reach over to where Ginny was sitting to get the sugar. He hadn't raised his head since situating himself between Ron and Hermione, something he clearly hadn't fully thought out.

He hadn't intended to literally come between the both of them, but the position was familiar and comforting – something he needed right now to ground him in the face of all the turbulence in his life. This however had both Hermione and Ron on edge as they traded conflicted questioning stares at each other which they seemed to think he couldn’t see. At least they didn’t prod, though he figured they already knew the reason what with Ginny gone mental and his unusual quietness.

Conversation at the table too seemed like it had reached a standstill. Every attempt at conversation was clunky and awkward, promptly snuffed out like a feeble flame in the wind. Everyone appeared to have joined Ron and Hermione in their cursory glances, all seemingly directed at him and Ginny.

He felt like standing on top of the table and screaming that he and Ginny had broken up, if only the attention would be directed away from him. That however would garner a completely contradictory effect. “Harry, can I speak to you outside?” asked a timid voice, quivering ever so slightly like the effort to speak itself was draining. Harry shared their sentiments.

He looked up to protest, but it was Ginny, looking at him with warm chocolate eyes, vulnerable in every sense of the word. He couldn’t say no to her. He inclined his head, then stood up, feeling her trailing at his back. The whole room seemed to hush as they watched the pair exit. Harry caught Draco’s eyes, his pale brows furrowed as he watched them with rapt attention as well, in unison with everyone else.

“What’s up,” he heard himself say, then cringed at the statement. “I’ve thought over what you said,” she started meekly, head bowed as she fiddled with the cuffs of her sweater. “And I don’t think you meant what you said. I know I haven't been there for you and I’m sorry for that. I know our relationship hasn’t been going anywhere recently, but is that really a reason for us to stop trying?”

Harry opened his mouth to counter, but came up short as his words took that moment to leave him floundering. “You what?” he managed to spit out, after what seemed like an eternity of awkward silence. “Ginny,” he said soothingly, as if he were talking to a child. “I broke up with you, we’re through. It’s just not working out between us. You need someone better than me. I’m not right for you, Ginny.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” she said through gritted teeth, causing Harry to step back, almost as if he could step out of the circle of Ginny’s rage. “You can't say crap like that and expect me to believe it like some sad idiot. Who is she?” she spat out, making Harry dizzy with confusion as his brain tried to catch up with what Ginny was saying.

It was the loud clear way she said it that made him realise the white noise of the Great Hall had faded into silence. Was everyone listening to their conversation right now, eager for something interesting to gossip about? “There is no she, I swear,” he confessed, almost in a whisper. The soft admission made her soften and her eyes widened as she realised that she’d just been screaming, maybe too noticing the eerie silence suffocating them.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed out – almost too soft to make out if he hadn't been standing so close – then walked back into the Great Hall without another look at him. Her eyes had been glassy and Harry realised that he too was crying. Tears were dampening his cheeks as they slid down his face. He didn’t know that it would hurt so much, ending what hadn't even started in the first place.

Then he felt arms around his waist, pulling him close. He craned his neck to look over his shoulder, Draco’s name already on the tip his tongue. The words died on his lip as Hermione hugged him fiercely from behind. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled into his back. He gave her a tender smile, turning around to hug her fully, enclosing her small body in his arms.

“Ron doesn't hate you by the way,” she added, looking up at him with brown eyes that looked so like Ginny’s, yet not. “He would be here hugging you, but his masculinity is apparently too important and Ginny is his sister after all,” she continued. Harry nodded mutely, burying his head in Hermione’s bushy hair, breathing in the familiar and comforting scent of the girl he’d spent the last year hunting Horcruxes with.

He looked up, still hugging Hermione tightly and saw Draco, hovering outside the doors of the Great Hall, eyes processing the two of them wrapped together. Before harry could call out, the Slytherin had spun on his heel, storming away from the pair. He was viciously rubbing his eyes, and Harry sighed into Hermione’s hair. Now he had two people who he’d made cry today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked what you've read, please do leave kudos and comments, thank you!!


	11. Sub Rosa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so update on the situation with my flashdrive. SO if you don't already know, my flashdrive is broken and no, I haven't gotten the data recovered yet. But I was able to recover this from my laptop itself so ya for that, but the rest of the chapters are only saved on my flashdrive and that's still pretty inaccessible. So I really have no idea when the next chapter is coming at you, but hopefully, it's soon??  
> So in the mean time, please do enjoy this chapter!!

Harry disentangled himself from Hermione, giving her a small smile. “Thanks, I needed that. How was Ginny?” he asked more out of curiosity than concern. His mind was still caught up on Draco running away. She tilted her head and frowned a bit, before realising that Harry could see her reaction.

“That bad, huh?” he answered to her silence. She nodded apprehensively. “She’s a mess, Harry,” she finally deigned to answer. Hermione had never been one to mince words and Harry was grateful for that small reprieve in the mess of his lies.

“I think I need some time by myself,” he said, by way of farewell. “Oh, of course,” Hermione said, taking a step back and inclining her head slightly. Harry waved and then walked in the direction that Draco had just gone in. This would certainly be interesting.

* * *

 

The Marauder’s Map had yet to fail him, and he rushed to to Gryffindor Tower, cursing himself for leaving it behind in the first place. Finding Draco’s dot on the map had become second nature for him and he quickly found it down by the lake, solitary in itself.

He puzzled over the choice of location. He’d never seen Draco there before. He wiped the map clean and stuffed it haphazardly into his pocket, already dashing down the steps of the Gryffindor Tower.

He nearly managed to trip over himself as he turned a corner, thanking Merlin that he had a free period now and wouldn't have to skip another lesson. The teachers would have let him get away with it – him being the Boy Who Lived and all – but that didn’t make him any more enthused about dodging something everyone else had to withstand.

The sunlight blinded him as he looked down the expanse of hill, towards where Draco supposedly was. The green in contrast with the blue cloudless sky was all too bright for Harry’s taste. But everything seemed to be these days. Maybe that’s why he’d sometimes find himself wandering the dark corridors of the castle, his path only lit by the dim moonlight or a solitary torch upholstered on the cold grey walls. That would definitely explain why he was all too eerily fascinated with the dark crevices of the castle.

While everyone had been attracted to the blinding brightness in the hopes that it would scare away their nightmares and trauma, Harry found himself inclined to dwell in the shadows. He knew that he would never escape his past, so why would he fill himself with false hope and cheer? Why fill himself with lies till he was an overflowing urn? He’d rather be an empty jug, echoing with truths, ready when the next evil clawed its way up from the pits of hell and unveiled its smiling face to the Wizarding World.

Maybe that’s why he was attracted to Draco. The fallen Slytherin prince, drowning in shadows and darkness. Silver eyes piercing the veil of tenebrosity like a crepuscular creature. His tainted facinorous self attracted to the darkness incarnate. A perfect pair.

Even from this distance, he noticed the shock of white-blond hair sitting atop the head of the Slytherin that seemed to have twisted himself into Harry’s heart. The Slytherin was sitting in the shade of a large beech tree, legs folded and head downcast. He set off towards the boy, nerves running through his veins like the dark blood he had spilled so many times before. Draco’s head shot up before he was even close, his head swivelling so fast that Harry was sure he must have gotten whiplash.

He raised his hand awkwardly, but the blond just turned back, continuing to stare into his lap aimlessly. Harry took this as an invitation and sat down next to the Slytherin, folding his legs and leaning towards the blond till their shoulders were touching. Draco jerked away like he had been stung, hand reaching up to rub the shoulder in question and hiss through his teeth as if it physically hurt.

Harry leaned back, resting against the trunk of the beech, feeling the tree’s ancient magic humming behind the bark. It grounded him in this awful awkward situation. It reminded him of another time sitting with Draco in complete silence. Harry closed his eyes, blocking out the brightness and reality effectively. Darkness was good when he had control of it. “Do you want to say something?”

Harry sat up and forced open his eyes at the soft question. He cocked his head taking in the sight of the boy in front of him. He had seen Draco just hours ago – naked and pressed against his body in bed. He had been smiling, unfiltered, _happy_. The boy before him now was the complete opposite. His eyes were red-rimmed and splotchy, tear streaks marring his pale sallow cheeks. He had put up his shields, warding off anyone who approached – including Harry.

“I broke up with Ginny,” Harry said pathetically, though he was certain the whole school population knew by now. Draco nodded thoughtfully, though Harry could sense that it was anything but. “She was crying. Did you know that?” Harry couldn't lie that he wasn't stunned by the sudden change in conversation. He nodded. Was that all they were now? Cryptic statements and jerky head movements of assent and dissent?

“I did it for you,” he continued, angry that he was justifying himself. Attempting to bring some levity to the situation, Draco laughed, a tinny discordant sound that bordered on delirious. “You did _that_  for me?” Draco asked, still spluttering. Harry gripped his shoulders tightly, hoping to bring back some sanity to the situation. “Why wouldn't I?” Harry asked, desperately trying not to be caught up in the maddeningly infectious laughter.

“You made a girl cry for me? How romantic,” Draco cooed mockingly. Harry’s temper flared then waned instantly. “I’m sorry,” he heard himself say. Draco had mellowed significantly, the psychotic glint in his eyes fading away as the apology sank in. “Me too,” he echoed. Draco resumed staring at his lap.

Harry slipped his hand in Draco’s, lacing their fingers together. The pale slender fingers were such a stark contrast to his own dark ones, yet they fit perfectly together. Draco slid languidly into Harry’s lap straddling him effectively. He towered over him, the canopy leaves drawing patterns on his face like a mask.

Harry slid his arms around Draco’s neck, cupping the back of his neck as he pulled Draco down for a kiss. Draco gave in easily, melting into the curve of Harry’s body like a habit. Harry hummed into the kiss, licking Draco’s bottom lip and nudging his tongue into the Slytherin’s mouth. It was in all words a sloppy messy kiss, but it was electrifying all the same.

Draco was rolling his hips, grinding against Harry purposefully. He could feel his toes tingling, the way his magic wanted to escape from his fingertips and dance across Draco’s body. He could feel the way Draco lost himself when they were together. No, the way he _found_  himself. When they were together, Draco was alive and more himself than he was with anyone else. Harry did that for him. Harry couldn’t save himself, but maybe he could save Draco.

The kiss ended all too fast for Harry’s liking. Draco had pulled away, smiling lopsidedly, his hips having stopped moving all so sinfully. “Does this make us boyfriends? Are we going to tell people?” he asked abruptly, leaning down close to whisper in Harry’s ear, like it was secret. Harry stiffened. Had he walked right into this? Was he ready to put that title on his and Draco’s relationship?

Draco was staring at him expectantly, the beginning of a a pout on his lips. His silver eyes were boring into Harry’s own and he felt like the gaze was trying to burrow into his very soul. He almost felt like he was being stared down by Hermione when she was interrogating him for answers. But Draco’s stare was so different for her unrelenting one. It was almost as if he were begging for an answer, pleading for one, like he felt he didn’t even deserve a rejection, let alone an acknowledgement. But Harry was interrupted by movement in the background, tearing his own gaze away from Draco’s expectant one.

A fiery head of hair emerged from the grey castle, closely followed another dark-haired figure. Harry’s eyes narrowed in on them, his hyperawarenss from the War kicking in like second nature. The pair seemed to be heading towards the lake – to the exact spot they were at. So much for an uninterrupted rendezvous. At least he could put off answering Draco for a while longer.

Draco’s eyes widened too as he noticed the pair getting closer to them. His breathing picked up significantly, the held breath from before becoming shallow pants that couldn’t have provided him with his needed supply of oxygen. Harry noticed the signs almost instantly.

He’d personally seen Hermione go into a state like this before. It had become fairly common among the student population of Hogwarts to suddenly be overcome by panic attacks of varying degrees. While Harry had never tried to insert himself into the episode, lest he make it worse – what with him being the Boy Who Lived, a painful reminder of the War – it would be quite ridiculous if he hadn't experienced one of Hermione’s episodes first hand.

While he usually let Ron take care of the situation, he had learnt the standard protocol of what to do. He hugged Draco close, wrapping his arms tightly around the fragile boy. He pressed a soft kiss on the top of his head, running his hand up and down his back, soothing him.

“It’s okay, Draco. You’re safe with me, nobody can hurt you.” Draco was now alternating between holding his breath for too long and breathing too much at the same time. He seemed on the verge of a collapse. Harry pressed him closer, squeezing him against his body until there wasn’t a hairsbreadth of space between them.

He could feel Draco’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, soft and almost as if they weren't there. His breathing was still uneven, but at least his cheeks weren't damp and he still seemed to be standing, even if he was using Harry as a support. In his peripheral vision, he saw the pair continue on their path towards them, unaware of the unusual pair of boys they were soon to uncover.

He hastily pressed Draco back against the twisting beech tree, holding him there with his own body. Draco had ceased to hyperventilate, his body tensing up and his breath seeming to have stopped. “Breathe, Draco,” Harry instructed, and the boy did so, albeit shakily. His silver eyes kept darting to the side, as if he could see Ginny coming from his position.

Harry cocked his head, watching Ginny flop onto the grass, body trembling ever so slightly. Pansy put her arm around the girl, pulling her closer, a vivacious smile dancing on her blood-red lips. The red-haired Gryffindor made a disgruntled sound, but allowed it all the same. Harry racked his mind, but came up short. Ginny had made no mention of her being friends with the promiscuous Slytherin

“What’s Pansy doing here?” Harry asked, directing his attention back to Draco. They were mere inches away from each other, emerald and silver boring into each other in an unwitting battle for dominance. Draco finally acquiesced, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again to look at a spot somewhere over Harry’s shoulder. “She never mentioned being friends with a Weasley, let alone one that was younger than her. The vixen particularly hates children,” Draco informed rather numbly.

Harry nodded along, only half paying attention. Pansy was idly twirling a lock of ginger hair around her finger, laughing headily as she leaned back onto the soft carpet of grass beneath her. Ginny followed, the semblance of a smile ghosting across her dry lips.

Their laughs seemed to reverberate around the deserted lake, the reflective blue surface of it seeming to bounce the sound off it as it lapped gently against the shore. Harry turned back to Draco, finding the Slytherin also enraptured with the idiosyncratic scene in front of them. “It feels like we’re intruding on something _intimate_ ,” Draco whispered.

“They couldn’t possibly be like that…” Harry found himself trailing off. “We just broke up,” he finished rather pathetically. Draco just shrugged equivocally. “I don’t know much about the Weaslette, but Pansy’s never been one for conformity.” Harry groaned. He knew he wasn’t with Ginny anymore, but seeing her with another potential partner so fast, still got on his nerves. “I highly doubt she was cheating though,” Draco was quick to supply, “it’s just that Pansy is a little _assertive_ when she wants something.”

“Like you?” Harry couldn’t stop himself from asking. Draco immediately blushed a dark rouge, staining his pale cheeks, shadowed by the canopy of leaves from the towering beech tree. “W…what do you mean?” Draco stuttered. Harry rolled his eyes very dramatically, making sure Draco noticed. He very pointedly did.

“You were seeing things,” Draco rambled on, trying to defend himself from Harry’s non-existent assault. Harry felt his lips quirk up in a smile, and Draco averted his eyes, still blushing crimson. “Let’s get out of here, before they see us,” Harry said, watching as the weight of the question and its imminent answer visibly ebbing out of him.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked what you've read so far, please do comment and leave kudos!! also do continue praying for the data recovery of my flashdrive, thank you so much!


	12. Disparity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I disappeared for forever but I'm back with this angst and I'm not going away any time soon because I'm literally free till next year so look forward to updates every fortnight or maybe even earlier?? and enjoy!

The mad dash for the castle had been electric, adrenaline pumping through his veins, the drug taking control of his systems. They’d skirted along the edge of the lake, the overgrown weeds concealing their forms as they scampered out of range of the two girls.

Harry wondered what look he had on his face right now. Draco very obviously didn’t care whether Pansy and Ginny were friends or perhaps something more, but the new information buzzed around Harry’s head like an incessant gnat. He must have been scowling or something of the like, because Draco kept turning to look at his face, frowning as he did.

He’d tried to craft his features into neutrality, but it seemed like he hadn't succeeded. Draco still kept throwing him furtive glances, disguising them by staring all too longingly at his lips. But maybe that wasn’t a disguise at all. Harry really was intrigued by what went on in the Slytherin’s mind.

The dimly lit corridor of the castles felt like a safe haven, concealing them from the prying eyes of the girls at the lake, and most students who were in class right now. Maybe that’s why Harry found himself pushing Draco against against a wall, hands slipping under the linen shirt and tracing the soft skin underneath.

Draco made a surprised noise, but did nothing as Harry pressed his lips against the column of his throat, working his way up to the tender spot behind Draco’s left ear.

Draco writhed beneath him, clutching steadfastly to Harry’s own shirt, pulling it taut against his skin. “Someone will see us,” Draco breathed onto Harry’s skin, warming it with his hot breath. Harry ignored the plea and continued attacking the already bruised skin. It was almost as if he had marked Draco as his. He bit down lightly at the juncture of Draco’s neck and shoulder, eliciting a sweet moan from the blond.

Then two firm hands pushed him away, a ragged breath drawn from the air, heaving lungs and trickling tears down a pale face – the sight before him. Draco Malfoy was crying in front of him once again. Harry’s heart simultaneously tried to stop beating and burst out of his chest. What had he done wrong?

“Draco?” he asked tentatively, approaching as one would a scared animal. Draco flattened himself against the wall, holding up a trembling hand to keep Harry away. Harry, always one for breaking the rules, stepped directly into Draco’s personal space, readying himself for the onslaught that was sure to follow. Draco just crumpled to the ground, a crying broken heap of linen and melancholy.

Harry slid down next to him, resting his head against the cool wall. They had so many odd moments like this, spent in sombre silence and tears. Harry was almost getting used to them. He wondered if Draco was too.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered through gasping sobs and rubbed red eyes. “What are you even crying for, Draco?” Harry asked, his voice pained and pinched, massaging his temples. Draco didn’t answer, as was expected of the previous encounters Harry had had with a similar situation.

“Come here,” Harry acquiesced, slinging an arm around the Slytherin’s shoulder and pulling him flush against his body. Draco moved along willingly, letting himself be pulled into Harry’s embrace. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, still rubbing his eyes, the tears having ceased.

“There’s nothing to apologise for, Draco,” Harry sighed, closing his eyes as he willed his uninvited temper away. “Who did this to you? Who made you fear the world and shield yourself against everyone? Why do you cry when I get near your insecurities and push me away like I’m an intruder?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Draco retorted quietly, eyes downcast, refusing to look at Harry. “You never talk about yourself or your fears or heck, even your bloody feelings. It’s like you’re a statue and I’m supposed to guess at the hidden meanings behind your propensities.”

“I’m the Boy Who Lived—Harry James Potter—doesn’t everyone know everything about me before I do? What could you possibly want to know about me that you don’t already?” Harry vexed. “Do you think I fell for the superficial saviour of the wizarding world? Do you think I fell for the gallivanting Gryffindor intent on bringing sunshine and happiness to the world? That’s a mask if I ever saw one. I fell for the side of you that you tried to hide from your friends and peers—the part that _I_ brought out of you. I fell for the Harry that wanted to save the world _and_  do whatever the fuck he wanted, who didn’t try to fit in with the majority. You stood out because you were so different and so firm in your insufferable beliefs and I fell so hard, and honestly Harry, I think I still am.”

Harry at up straight, turning to look at Draco who had gone very quiet now. How did this frangible boy always manage to upturn his life on its head make him walk into walls in the aftermath of the turbulence. Draco was the reason hurricanes had people names and this one kept coming back again and again for everything he had left..

“If it isn't Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, sitting on the floor, conspiring against the world and all that’s wrong. What an odd pair,” exclaimed Pansy Parkinson, her blood-red lips curled in a devilish smile, slender arm wrapped around Ginny’s waist like a coiling serpent. Harry jumped away from Draco, heart thumping in his chest that he was sure there was an earthquake happening.

Ginny’s mouth was just a gaping hole, opening and closing like a goldfish’s would, before sealing shut in a thin line. Pansy looked from the girl beside her to the pair of boys on the floor and snorted elegantly, if that were even possible. “Really, this school has gone to hell. Draco, love, do wash that Gryffindor scum off your robes before you enter the common room. It wouldn't do to get suck-up and saviour on our oriental rugs.” Then she strode away, head held high, arm still around Ginny’s waist as she dragged the hapless Gryffindor along.

Harry just leant back, resting his head against the stone wall. He let out a frustrated noise, his emotions all but spent, and it wasn’t even noon. Draco fidgeted with his hands, pulling his cuffs down as low as he could. Harry took his hand and interlaced their fingers.

“What if someone else comes along and sees the Gryffindor hero with the Malfoy traitor?” Draco pleaded, though he didn’t try to shrug out of Harry’s grip. “Nobody says that about you, Draco,” Harry countered, exasperated that they were even having this conversation. “You don’t hear how they whisper when I walk by, you don’t have to tolerate all their snide remarks and jabs. All that graces your ears are praise and worship and the occasional love confession. I assume I fall into the latter,” Draco shot back.

“You don’t know how it feels to have people break down in front of you and curse your name because you didn’t save their friends or family. You don’t have to watch human beings fracture in front of you and place the weight of their losses on your shoulders. You don’t know everything abut me, Draco! We both have our own set of problems, so stop thinking you’re the only one who the War fucking broke!”

“Sorry to break it to you, Harry, but I was already broken before the War!” Draco stood up and stormed off, leaving behind the horrible stinging words and the warmth in Harry’s hand. When did life become so painful and complicated?

* * *

Harry sat there, head against the wall, eyes closed for a long time. The tears of hurt had long since stopped trickling down his cheeks in the aftermath of their fight. What hurt the most, was that what Draco had said was true.

It had been so long since he’d let someone else in. It wasn’t that he was doing it intentionally, but the door that had once been open to everyone was now closed. He found himself second-guessing everyone’s words, questioning their motives and marking their strengths and weaknesses. He was an honest mess, but he liked the way he was now.

He liked being vigilant and alert to everything around him. He didn’t want to be an oblivious indifferent person anymore. He liked having control of his life. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, was it? That was the reason he was even able to pick up on Draco. Then again, he’d always seemed to have a tab on the Slytherin—whether it be for altruistic or ulterior motives.

He got up, dusting his robes and looked at the sun high in the sky. It looked to be noon, but how long had he really been sitting there? Wasting away in his thoughts seemed to have become the norm. He wondered if this was going to become a habit—sitting idly alone, thinking about what ifs that could have been.

* * *

He stood over the long dining tables. If he’d appraised right, lunch would start soon and the cavernous room would flood with students and staff. But for now, it was deserted, his footsteps echoing against the stone walls and over his head. The spelled ceiling showed the clear cerulean sky, dabbed with white wispy clouds that hadn't fully formed in the heat.

He disinclined his head, levelling his gaze with the pale boy standing in the door. Harry stepped onto the table, stamping his foot loudly, liking the discordant sound that clanged clumsily around the room. The boy stepped forward apprehensively, head bowed, staring at his feet.

“What do you want, Draco?” he asked, not even bothering to look at Draco. Let that Slytherin get a taste of his own medicine. It was nice to have Draco looking for him instead of the other way around.

“Well, my wants are innumerous. I’ve been told that I’m quite the materialist.” The pale boy was looking up now, silver eyes boring into Harry’s own, confidence oozing from his whole being like he owned the place—nothing like the fragile boy back at the lake.

He wasn’t wearing his robes and his hands were in his pockets, the shadow of his cheekbones and the elegant yet immoral slouch making him look like an Adonis. Harry lost himself in the image for a split-second before returning to the reality where he was angry at Draco.

Harry held his head high, looking down as Draco ambled towards the table he was atop. Draco looked up, a disappointed look on his face like he were looking at a child who made a mess. How did he manage to make Harry feel so small, yet be so broken all at once? Harry couldn’t say he wasn’t baffled by the bipolarity of the boy before him.

Draco stepped onto the bench and before Harry could protest, was on the table as well. He towered over Harry, the few inches of height making him feel like he was lying prostrate rather than eye-to-eye. He scowled before he knew what he was doing, earning a snide chuckle from the Slytherin. Not all Slytherins were evil, but this one was.

“What do you think you’re playing at, Draco? One minute you’re snivelling and the next you’re acting like you own the world,” Harry sneered, cocking his hand, hoping to gain a leverage in this situation. Draco however seemed unfazed by the jab, rather he seemed egged on by the direct challenge to his power.

Then the room flooded, waves of students pouring in and then stopping as they processed the two boys atop the table, staring at each other. Harry could feel the waves of confusion and unnerve physically crash into him. He almost wondered if he was going to tip over the table and fall over. Attention had never been a problem, but this was too much altogether.

Draco reached out, hand firm around Harry’s wrist, steadying him. His silver eyes were still defiant, yet they’d seemed to have softened.

“Potter, Malfoy! Get off the table this instance!” Minerva McGonagall’s voice pierced the deafening silence. Harry snapped out of his trance, pulling his wrist from Draco’s and scowling as the Slytherin jumped off the table. Surprising himself more than Harry seemed at his own actions, he graciously took Draco’s outstretched hand and dismounted the table as well.

The sea of students now seemed to have calmed, making their way to their own tables. Draco simply pivoted on his heel and made for the Slytherin table without another glance in Harry’s direction, let alone another word. Harry would just have to meet with him later. And with that, he too made his way to the Gryffindor table, the crackling tension still simmering between them like a cauldron about to boil over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked this, please leave kudos and comment, thank you!!


	13. Skirmish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologise for the long wait but both you and I know that I don't mean it

“Oh Harry, you’ve decided to grace us with your beatified presence,” Ginny announced, loud enough that students from other tables turned their heads. Harry bristled at the tone, but moved to sit down nonetheless. “What with Draco Malfoy taking up your precious time, who thought that you’d remember us lesser beings. But, do sit down Boy Wonder.”

Ron threw his sister and confused look, one that asked the same question that Harry begged to ask himself. What had gotten into her?

He contemplated asking her why she was spending time with Pansy Parkinson, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to overcomplicate the matter any further than this.

“What’s it to you who Harry hangs out with?” Ron quipped, surprising Harry as well as anyone who had been slyly listening to the conversation. Harry expected Hermione to jump in and chide Ron, but she too had been shocked by the sudden turn in conversation.

“It’s okay, Ron, really,” Harry found himself starting, trying to ease the boiling tension between the siblings. “It’s just that I happened to chance upon him during free period, and company didn’t seem such a bad idea at the time,” the lie easily slipping out of his mouth.

“Oh and how does that explain both of you looking like you were going to commit murder a few seconds ago,” Ginny continued, ferocity tingeing her words, a feral look in her chestnut eyes. Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, coming up short. How could he manage to oversimplify Draco and his relationship or spin a lie out of nothing. In all truth, _he_  didn’t even know the true reason why they were fighting up on the tables.

Ginny looked triumphant across him, having caught him in his lie, but it was Ron once again who came to his rescue. “Lay off Ginny, whether Harry wants to kill Malfoy or kiss him, it’s his own bloody business.”

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed exasperated, hitting him lightly on the shoulder, causing him to shrug as he piled his plate. “Really Mione, we should let him be, he’s his own person. We can’t always stop him from trying to murder Malfoy—the git probably deserved it.”

Hermione huffed, having clearly given up on Ron. “I just think you should go easy on him, Harry. He lost his family in the War—they’re in Azkaban—he’s bound to be a little short-tempered and hurt right now.

Harry nodded. He and Draco hadn't talked about his parents, let alone any of his past yet. The war was still a tender topic for most people, and Harry knew it wouldn't do good to prod open wounds. “I’ll keep that in mind, Hermione.”

Ginny scowled across the table, having been forgotten so fast and she stood up this time, red hair a flame behind her head, illuminated by the sun. “So what now you're friends with Malfoy just because you pity him?” Ginny chided, gaining the attention of the whole Great Hall almost instantly. “You think it’s _so_  sad that he lost his whole family and you’re trying to be that for him? How about Fred, have you forgotten about him already? How about everyone else who died? Are you planning on fixing all of their problems too?”

“Miss Weasley!” McGonagall screeched, standing up from the table as well. “That is enough screaming for today.” Ginny flopped to her seat, then deciding better of it, stood up and stormed out of the Great Hall. Harry doubted anyone else noticed Pansy Parkinson slithering away from her seat amidst the chaos.

Harry put his head on the table, having fully lost his appetite. Nobody else stood up to accuse him and he thanked Merlin for that. Ron however rather loudly commented, “Well who wouldn't feel sorry for Malfoy what with coming from a family of traitors and losing them.”

The tension broke at that statement, a few snide chuckles bouncing around the cavernous room. Harry felt uneasy nonetheless at the comment at Draco’s expense. He glanced furtively over to the Slytherin table where he soon realised that Draco had slipped away too.

He cursed under his breath and then abruptly stood up, surveying the table more closely. It wasn’t that he expected to Draco to stay and listen to everyone bashing his family, but he never took Draco as the type to lower his head in spite of the mud-slinging.

“What are you doing, Harry?” Hermione asked tenderly, moving to stand as well. “Oh, just thought of heading for a walk. Kind of lost my appetite after that whole thing,” he answered sheepishly, not entirely lying. “I’m sorry about my sister, Harry. I really don’t know what’s gotten into her recently,” Ron apologised, cheeks tinged with a slight blush.

Harry shook his head placatingly. He understood where Ginny was coming from. She probably felt the same way he did when he saw her with Pansy Parkinson. Jealousy was a bitter plant that once took root, was not easily removed, though he felt that Ginny more likely viewed Draco as Harry’s new friend more so than his boyfriend.

And once again the thought plagued him. What exactly was he to Draco and contrariwise? He had approached Draco with the intention to help the broken boy, but now both his plan and his morals had been washed down the drain. His head hurt when he thought about it.

Pulling up memories of Draco always brought along feelings of misplaced anger and annoyance and a whole lot of other unidentified emotions that Harry had never felt before. He hated how much of a mess he was when he was with Draco. He couldn’t control himself or his feelings around the Slytherin. When had Draco managed to take root in him and ruin the perfect structures he had built in himself with a few words and exceptionally good kissing skills?

He marched out of the Great Hall without another word, sensing that if he stayed there any longer Hermione or Ron would ask about the pained expression he was sure he was sporting.

Without bothering to unearth the Marauder’s Map from his pocket, he trudged on towards the dungeons. He didn’t know exactly why his feet were carrying him to Draco, but he’d long since questioned the directions he unconsciously gave himself. His body was always more alert than his mind and it would be useless to fight something that he felt down to his very bones.

Before he knew it, the dank chill of the dungeons was caressing his bare skin, raising goosebumps as he traversed the shadows in the low light of the torches too far apart for comfort or warmth. The entrance to the Slytherin dorms was naturally closed and Harry pondered whether pounding on the door till someone let him in was a good idea.

He decided against it almost immediately. The Slytherins weren't very fond of him and he wasn’t planning to further tarnish that already soiled image of himself. He slumped against the wall, peeved that he’d been deterred before even starting. He pulled out the Marauder’s Map, eyes finding Draco’s room disappointingly empty. He leant back, banging his head against the wall for his own arrogance, assuming he knew Draco better than he thought.

The school was practically deserted what with its population concentrated in the Great Hall, still enjoying their lunch while Harry’s inner workings malfunctioned. His eyes found Draco’s minuscule dot, heading agonisingly slowly in what Harry could only assume to be the boys’ bathroom.

His heart stopped instantly, dropping from its rightful place in his chest to his empty stomach, already nauseous at the implications. His feet picked up straight away, before even his mind finished playing a gruesome noir reel of the various states he would find Draco in.

His body and instincts had taken control, propelling him towards Draco like an arrow drawn to a target. He sped along, running a beat as fast as his own heart, turning corners and skidding on the unforgiving stone ground against the soles of his shoes, praying to whatever deity that was listening that he wouldn't stumble.

The dim torchlight soon turned to sunlight as he ascended from the underbelly and ran towards the boy’s bathroom. The only constant was his ragged breaths and the steady slap of his feet as they hit the ground in an unbroken staccato. His muscles burned as he exerted them, pushing them beyond their limits as he raced to Draco.

His glasses bounced on the bridge of his nose, threatening to slide off, but steadily hanging on as beads of sweat dampened his skin. His heart thundered in his ears, his pulse fuelled by adrenaline and hope and desperation.

The onslaught of emotions and his own bubble of single-minded determination left him sprawled on the floor, having crashed into the object of his search. He heaved, drawing in the crisp afternoon air as he pulled himself up off a very startled Draco.

Draco frowned, then sat up, cocking his head as Harry wide-eyed, surveyed Draco for any forms of harm or self-mutilation. Having found nothing to raise any alarms, Harry lay flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling as he caught the breath that seemed to have evaded him during his dash to get to Draco.

“You’re alright,” Harry heaved, eyes pinched closed as he wiped sweat off his brow. When there was no answer, he rolled onto his stomach, meeting eyes with Draco as he watched him like an exhibit at the zoo—with awe and curiosity.

Draco flushed under Harry’s gaze the turned away, drawing his knees to his chest. “I’m mostly right,” he whispered, though the torchlight reflected the tear streaks down his cheeks and the slight red rim around his eyes.

Harry snorted unceremoniously, cackling at what, he himself couldn’t fathom. “Well I’m glad you're _mostly_ right, Draco,” genuine relief washing over him. Draco smiled something small too, then crawled over to Harry, sitting in front of him.

Harry sat up, levelling his gaze with Draco’s own unwavering one. Draco moved forward hesitantly, jerky movements propelling him forward as he bumped noses with Harry. He smiled shyly, pulling back just enough that Harry wished it was Draco he was breathing and not oxygen.

Harry moved forward, pressing his lips against Draco’s, hands reaching up to gently cup Draco’s cheeks like he had to hold the blond lest he evaporate into nothingness. Because Draco’s presence was as such—like he was going to vanish at any second if Harry didn’t pay close attention to him—and it was getting increasingly harder for Harry to stomach that thought.

He slipped his tongue into Draco’s mouth, tasting peppermint instead of what he expected to be today’s lunch. He was definitely developing an unhealthy addiction to it at this point.

Draco kissed him harder, grabbing onto Harry’s robes and twisting the material in his hands in an attempt to pull Harry closer. What an odd sight they would’ve been—Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter kissing on the floor in an abandoned corridor. But Harry wanted this moment to be theirs and theirs alone, not anyone elses.

“I think we should tell people,” Draco huffed excitedly, face flushed and eyes shining with something Harry hadn’t seen in such a long time, pulling away as he did. “About what?” Harry asked, more distracted by Draco’s lips than the conversation. “That we’re dating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've liked what you rad, please do leave kudos and comments thank you!!


	14. Rituals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only reason I have is that because I was overseas?? new year, new chapter yay

The words walked into the space of the empty corridor like an uninvited guest, making themselves comfortable where they were not wanted nor welcomed.

Harry stumbled on the words. Had they been dating? They’d already slept with each other and made out with each other enough to say so. Harry definitely knew things about Draco that he’d hidden from everyone else. Draco had even confessed to him. But nowhere in his memories could Harry remember agreeing to _date_.

He pondered Draco’s words carefully, watching the Slytherin watch him. What were they exactly? He’d broken up with Ginny for Draco, but he couldn’t remember the exact reason why if asked. Wasn’t it more for himself than Draco? He’d lost his romantic feelings for Ginny—if he’d ever had them—and broken up with her to spare her feelings and allow the both of them to move on. Where did Draco fit into all of this?

He looked up again to see Draco shrinking, closing in on himself as he made himself smaller and smaller, slowly inching away from Harry. He needed to stop this immediately, or Draco would never open up and talk to him again.

“Of-of course,” Harry stuttered unconvincingly, but Draco didn’t seem to detect it through his evident euphoria. Draco was smiling shyly, cheeks stained red as he averted his eyes, toying with Harry’s robes. Harry swallowed uncomfortably. He couldn’t refuse now.

“So should we announce it or tell a few of our friends and then let it spread, or just wait for people to figure it out by themselves?” Draco asked, his voice pitched higher as he spilled thoughts he must have been harbouring for a while now. And then he got quiet.

He looked up at Harry, cocked his head and then frowned in confusion. Harry edged back slightly, confused and shocked at the sudden turn in mood. “Draco?” he asked cautiously. Draco frowned at his quivering tone, then stoop up abruptly. Harry could physically feel the air sour like spoiled milk. He blanched at the taste that coated his tongue.

Draco was staring down at him, the gaze cutting Harry as sharp as a blade. Something like a scowl passed over his features, yet not. Harry’s mind raced to place a word to it, but came up with naught.

“I’m just a toy to you, aren't I?” Draco spat, his mask slowly cracking. His piercing sliver eyes were glassy with unspilled tears, his eyelashes translucent as they were wet. Harry stood too, albeit clumsily, his glasses dropping to the floor.

Draco was a blur distorted mess in his vision and he squinted, bending down to pick up his glasses and then deciding against it. This would be easier to do if it was just another faceless blob in the neverending sea of broken dreams and melancholy.

Harry rushed forward, almost stumbling over his feet and crashed into Draco unceremoniously. He wrapped his arms securely around the blond, pulling him close. Draco dwarfed him yet he could feel the smallness of the boy in his embrace—how fragile and insecure he was. He felt how much hold he had over him.

“You’re more than that, and you know it. Stop acting so daft, we both know you’re smarter than me,” Harry mumbled into Draco’s chest. He knew the words were vague and easily rebuffed but he knew it was enough for Draco. It was almost as if he was spoon feeding Draco molasses and the Slytherin was naively swallowing every drop of it.

Harry felt his hair and then his forehead dampen. He looked up to see Draco Malfoy crying once again. This really was becoming a ritual.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered as Draco’s mouth opened most likely to apologise. Draco shook his head, but promptly shut his mouth when Harry slid a finger up to the blond’s lips. They were a bit chapped but soft nonetheless and flushed pink from all the worrying and earlier kissing.

Harry idly ran his index finger over Draco’s lips, completely aware of how the Slytherin’s exhaled breaths quickened. The torchlight was still low and the angles of Draco’s face looked harsh, but he still looked like royalty.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry exhaled on a whisper, making direct eye contact with Draco. The Slytherin blushed even more, burying his face in Harry’s hair in attempt to subside his embarrassment. “You can’t mean that, you dated Ginny Weasley,” Draco whispered.

Harry smiled lopsidedly. It was odd, this boy in his arms, the way that his mind worked. Deciding against saying anything else, Harry hummed inaudibly in acknowledgement. Draco pressed a soft kiss in Harry’s hair, murmuring something inaudible as well.

Harry didn’t know how long they’d been standing there, but it was serene and they broke apart awkwardly. “I guess we missed lunch,” Harry commented blandly, not meeting Draco’s eyes. Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ve probably missed lessons too.”

At that Draco perked up, but shrugged again like he couldn’t be bothered. What point was there in him returning to school if he didn’t attend any lessons? He wondered why Hermione of all people hadn't made a fuss at his unexplained absence.

He understood why McGonagall and the rest of the professors would go easy on him and he hated how differently they treated him, but that couldn’t be changed. If anything, he deserved a break after the intensity of the War.

He however wondered how Draco could get away with never being in class, so he asked, lowering his hands to Draco’s hips. “They don’t really bother with me after my parents were thrown in Azkaban. They were the ones who dragged me back to this hellhole when they realised they’d left me an orphan all alone in Malfoy Manor,” Draco said all too quickly with an intensity that sent chills through Harry’s bones.

Harry disengaged himself from Draco, holding his hand and pulling him along. “But why did _you_ come back? Malfoy Manor has so many wards and it’s not like everyone came back either,” Harry asked.

Draco smiled weakly, then looked out across the magical landscape through the tall arches, the sun making a path towards the cresting mountains. Draco seemed to have the words on his lips, the answer seeming to give him immense joy. And it made Harry wonder. Before Harry could ask again, Draco still looking at the horizon, answered.

“Because of you, it’s always been because of you. Why ask, when you already know the answer, love?” His voice was low and steady, the enunciation crisp and clear and the words almost didn’t hit him. He found himself nodding along before the full force of the words had punched him in the face.

Harry felt his cheeks heat and he stopped abruptly in his tracks, blabbering gibberish as his mind worked furiously to catalogue the supposedly vital information. All these years, and he still wasn’t used to the things Draco said to him.

Draco was smiling this time, a real something stretching his lips taut and crinkling his eyes. Harry was certain that he was living for Draco’s genuine smiles—so rare and ethereal. This smile was smug and took delight in itself, in the way it had flipped Harry over with a few choice words. Harry had never been good with words, no wonder his demeanour reflected the clumsy way his tongue twisted around anyone.

Before they knew it, they’d started walking again, Draco following Harry’s lead through the empty hallways, their footsteps echoing along the long corridor. Draco was humming something to himself, an old familiar rhythm that piqued Harry’s interest.

The faint sound seemed to evoke something hidden deep within his person, though he never recalled having heard it anywhere before. His erratic heartbeat seemed to slow as they ascended the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, the soothing song lulling his senses into forced security.

“It’s an old lullaby my mother sung to me when I was a child. It’s an old pureblood thing, but the lyrics are coarse and indelicate, so the tune’s the only thing I bothered to remember,” Draco smiled as he recounted, probably thinking about times when his parents weren’t in Azkaban and life wasn’t so void and desolate.

“I think I’ve heard it before. Maybe my parents sang it to me, before Voldemort,” Harry said, shrugging as he did. He squinted up at Draco, the angle of sunlight creating an image of Draco dipped in ambrosia rising from the River Styx. He really was an Adonis, and he wondered why he’d never seen it before.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry echoed again, reaching up and running his finger along Draco’s lips, wet with spit and possibly innumerable secrets he hadn't disclosed yet. Harry was once again taken aback with how soft Draco’s lips were, how full they felt. He raised his hand to touch Draco’s eyelashes—silver translucent organdy against his fingertips.

“You seem so hard and cold on your exterior, but you’re really so soft and delicate like a porcelain doll, Draco. How have I managed to be fooled for this long?” Harry wondered aloud, intent on tracing his fingers on every soft part of Draco that was within arm’s reach.

“People see what they want to, you’ll never be able to change that, no matter how many wars you win.” Draco eyes went dark for a second, his brows furrowing ever so slightly as he stared somewhere over Harry’s head. Harry once again shivered, as if if someone were running a fainéant finger down his exposed spine. How was this boy on two sides of the spectrum within a matter of seconds?

They sat, leaning against the cold wall and watching the sun make its lazy path across the sky, the clouds growing heavier and darker as it did. The once humid air turned chill and crisp, sweet breeze dancing across their skin as they sat in their solitude, the silence like a warm blanket instead of the usual uncomfortable itch that yearned to be scratched.

Their hands were still together, Harry running his thumb in idle circles on the top of Draco’s hand as they watched the time tick away. Harry loved these stretches of time, when the only thing that pricked his ears where white noise and Draco’s soft breathing. It allowed his mind to stop its restless pacing and sit indolently, even if only for a brief few moments.

It also allowed him to study Draco. The Slytherin was sitting with his head resting against the wall, head slightly upturned and eyes delicately closed. If it weren't so quiescent, he wouldn't have been able to tell that Draco was in fact not sleeping due to the unevenness of his breaths.

Upon closer inspection, there were barely-there freckles dusted along Draco’s regal cheekbones, his hair such a light blond in the sunlight that it almost looked like silver filigree. His skin was pulled taut over an angular bone structure like gossamer, and was soft to the touch like cashmere. Everything about this boy was opulence and elegance.

“There aren’t any astronomy lessons today, Professor Sinistra would gladly whack us with her telescope if she found us here,” Draco started conversationally, lazily opening his eyes and sliding his gaze over to Harry, breaking the silence like he was cleaving warm butter. Harry nodded dumbly, wondering how much time had past, the sun edging closer towards the horizon painted with the canopy of the Forbidden Forest.

“You know this used to be one of my favourite places,” Draco confessed, looking away again, staring at the horizon, ruminating. “Used to?” Harry asked, perking up at the tidbit of information. “Did it change after you know, Dumbledore?” he asked with caution, wary about the sudden change in subject.

“Oh I mean I guess that played a factor in it too, if I think about it. But it’s really because I tried to kill myself here before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've liked what you've read, then please leave kudos and comments!!


	15. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes wonder where I'm going with this and the I realise yes, it's down the most fucked up and sad path my mind can conjure

Harry stilled—his heart stopped beating, his lungs stopped working, his thumb idle on Draco’s hand. Everything stopped. “What?” Harry sputtered out, coughing as he did, his throat dry and closed.

Draco just sighed, almost as if he’d expected this reaction from Harry and Harry in turn felt ashamed for giving it. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but none of them seemed to want to escape the confines of his throat.

He knew that he shouldn’t ask them—it was after all a touchy subject—but his mind yearned to find the answers to these unasked questions and his mouth just refused to cooperate.

Chilly wind blew through the Astronomy Tower, his dry lips cracking as he licked them moist. Draco shifted closer, his body warmth seeping through his clothes and into Harry’s own frigid body. Draco was humming the haunting lullaby that now sounded more like a grisly tale of warning than a child’s bedtime story. Goosebumps were raised across his arms, his hand still loosely holding Draco’s as they sat in suffocating silence.

It was like an itch that needed to be scratched and Harry stubbornly ignored it till he could take it no longer. He turned abruptly, the words yearning to jump off his tongue and then dying almost just as quickly. Draco was staring at him, piercing silver eyes meeting his own and he swallowed nervously.

“You really are too easy to read, Harry. It’s a wonder, really.” Harry looked away, his face hot despite the weather, pulling his hand away from Draco’s to wipe the sweat that had formed on the back of his neck.

“It was right after I came back to school, probably a week into it,” Draco started, whispering, more as if he was telling himself than Harry. “I couldn’t stand coming back here. Most of the Slytherins didn’t even talk to me—I was both a blood traitor and blood supremacist, I didn’t know how to handle it. Pansy had turned her sights on me, but she grew bored soon as I showed no interest. She’s a great girl but I know sex was her way of coping. Blaise turned to drinking with Theodore and Greg and alcohol was fine for sometime, but it was too little for me.”

Harry was enraptured, it was a vivid scene painted in his mind and Draco, the lone figure void of colour, a solitary being in the frenetic blur of giddy colours dancing around him. They whisked past him, unaware of the hollow boy, too distracted with filling their own hollowness with alcohol and carnal copulation. Draco was a ghostly visage in it all—pale, translucent and revenant. And maybe he was, if what he was saying was true.

Draco continued as if unfazed by Harry’s spirited imaginings beside him. “I just lost it one day. It was full moon and the intoxication and debauchery made me nauseous and giddy with melancholy. I was in a room full of people, yet I felt so miserably alone. The blood on my wrists looked like red wine and tears on my floor looked like vodka. The screaming in my head could almost be overlooked because everyone else was already screaming too—whether in bliss or agony I couldn’t tell at the time.

Nobody noticed me walking out and my hands were damp and cold, the blood running down in rivulets. The light-headedness had set in by the time I reached the Astronomy Tower. My head felt like a drum being pounded and my feet refused to walk in anything but circles, almost as if my subconscious knew what I was planning to do before I did myself. I’d honestly only gone up there because it was the farthest thing from the dungeons and everyone else. I have a love-hate relationship with loneliness if you haven't noticed by now. In a room full of people, I want nothing more than my own thoughts, yet when I ‘m alone with them, I can’t seem but want anything to mute them.

My body decided to sit and in those tense moments, I decided that this life was meaningless anyway and why shouldn’t I just end it and blame it all on gravity. An _avada kedavra_  seemed too scandalous for my taste but then again, there I was planning my own death and hoping Blaise had the decency not to invite Astoria Greengrass so she wouldn't desecrate my corpse with her fake tears.

And before I knew it, I’d gotten up on my trembling legs and was standing on the precipice of the railings, fighting against the gusting wind and looking heavenward at the canvas of stars above my head and thought that maybe this wasn’t such a bad way to go.

I’d closed my eyes, the tears falling freely I didn’t know from the stinging cold wind trying to push me back or my body’s physical response to knowing it was nearing its end—as if my body was trying to guilt me into stopping this. But I’d made my mind up and tomorrow students would flock to see the Malfoy traitor with his neck snapped and blood a halo around his head. I relished that thought, and of course you would be there, eyes wide, holding Ginny Weasley to your chest as if to shield her from the gore and you’d flounder for an answer as to why this was happening. But you wouldn't cry—you never do in any of my dreams and maybe that’s what I wanted to see most of all, you crying over me like it was the saddest thing to happen to you. Like losing your parents and friends to Voldemort, losing your happiness meant nothing compared to me, because I would be your friend, family and happiness and losing me would splinter you through and you wouldn't know why until you too were on your deathbed, surrounded by droves of children and grandchildren and great grandchildren and Ginny Weasley and you’d realise that maybe you felt something more than hatred for me and on the precipice of that revelation, you’d breathe your last breath and it would be my name you said. And I revelled in that thought as I stepped off the railing, but someone pulled me back and pinned me to the floor.

I was screaming and scratching at anything and cursing and the blood on my hands wasn’t mine alone and I looked up and saw green eyes and almost thought they were yours, but they weren't emerald, they were almost watery blue and I realised it was Neville Longbottom. I knocked out soon after the immediate panic attack and woke up somewhat healed and hastily bandaged in my room. We’ve never talked about it after, but I’ve seen him glancing at me whenever we’re in close proximity.” And then Draco went quiet—contemplative—and tears were running down his cheeks like raindrops on a spring evening and he had a mirthless smile gracing his lips as he watched the sun dip behind the inky mountains.

He sniffed, then reached up to rub his nose, but Harry caught his hand and pulled it to his lips, kissing the palm and then moving to the wrist to kiss the criss-crossed scars still faintly red. Harry felt Draco shiver under his touch, watching his eyes and Harry soon realised it was to see if he were crying. Draco looked away almost immediately when Harry’s eyes remained dry and were pointedly not looking at Draco.

The whole story seemed like something out of a nightmare, but nightmares were things no longer confined to the subconscious and found themselves traipsing over to reality—as was the War. Why was Neville even there in the first place? It wasn’t like Draco had been trying to ingest poisonous plants in the Greenhouse.

Harry’s annoyance tripped over the question, but he didn’t bother asking it. Draco and Neville hadn't even been in contact since the incident. Draco was still sobbing quietly, swiping tears as they slipped down the terrain of his pale cheek. His translucent eyelashes were damp against his cheeks as Draco blinked rapidly, flashes of red puffy eyes peeking through.

Draco was gnawing his lip anxiously, the flesh pink and moist under his ministrations. Harry leaned forward and Draco in surprise, flattened himself against the wall as if willing himself to seep through the cracks. Harry meant to sigh before wondering why he had leant towards Draco in the first place.

 _A kiss of course_ , his mind helpfully supplied and Harry felt his cheeks heat as he fumbled away, making space between himself and the blond. Thankfully, Draco seemed too startled to notice the space between them as he tried to make his own.

Draco was an artwork painted in varying shades of white, from the expanse of his skin to his hair to his very eyes blinking at Harry in confusion. It seemed that later on in life, another artist had looked at his masterpiece and idly added flushes of red if only because he was so bored of the monochrome that seemed almost spectral. This red bloomed on Draco’s cheeks and in his bloodshot eyes and on the angry marks up and down his arm like cross-stitches. A light flush at the tips of Draco’s ears that Harry noticed after they’d kissed, in the full body blush when he’d opened Draco up under him, his tongue peeking out to moisten full lips. It didn’t elude Harry that he was probably this second artist, adding red in Draco’s life where once there was only monochromaticity.

Harry got up abruptly, dusting his robes as he did and extended a hand to Draco. When the Slytherin didn’t take it in his daze, Harry knelt down and took Draco’s face in his hands and turned it to face him. “If you want to find me, I’ll be in your room,” Harry found himself saying curtly. And almost as if another person had taken control of him, he stood up and walked away without another word, leaving Draco by himself.

Only when he’d reached out to grab the cold metal of the railing to steady himself, did he realise that he was trembling ever so slightly. There were angry red crescent moons in the palms of his hand where he’d sought to ground himself and his arms had taken on a slight tremble as well, making the crescents waver in Harry’s vision.

It was only when he felt the uncomfortable feeling of water sliding down his jaw and over his Adam’s apple did he realise the distortion of the images of the crescents weren’t due to the shaking of his hands but the fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He was livid—at what, he couldn’t seem to place.

Maybe it was McGonagall for forcing Draco back to school or maybe it was the Slytherins who turned Draco into an outcast or maybe it was Voldemort for starting this damned War in the first place. Maybe it was the world.

Or maybe it was at Draco himself, for pulling him into the intricate disaster that was contained in Draco Lucius Malfoy. But maybe it was really at himself for feeling all too much for the broken boy whose darkness had enraptured him so. Harry damned it all as he made his way to the dungeons, where hopefully its darkness would grant him peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked what you've read, please leave kudos and comment!!


	16. Small Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is probably the worst chapter I've written for this fic, like I actually hate my writing in this, I forced myself to write this through a severe writers' block and it's literally so gross I couldn't bring myself to proofread it because the chances of me deleting it were so high and just yeah I hope y'all enjoy it because I'm just disappointed in myself

The bed creaked under his weight as he flopped onto it, the soft mattress enveloping him in warmth amidst the crisp air that permeated the underbelly of Hogwarts. It was sometime in the evening that Harry couldn’t be bothered to think about, only vaguely certain that dinner hadn't happened yet.

Using the Invisibility Cloak to sneak into Draco’s room past the other Slytherins had almost been too easy and he’d winced as nobody noticed his deliberately careless footsteps. It wasn’t that he wanted to get caught, it just felt good to do something bad and get away with it for once. Under the Invisibility Cloak, there were no pretences and there was no one and nothing to stop him—except himself but he was in no mood to hold himself to the rules he’d set out after the War.

Be vigilant, be kind, be brave, be helpful, be _happy_. With Draco, he was everything and nothing, a melange of white and black that he was a murky grey leeching to the surface of reality. Draco didn’t seem to mind either way. Draco was colour blind and Harry had no intention of pointing it out if it let him express himself freely without having to hide behind the uncomfortable mask he’d secured to his face after the War.

He got up abruptly, throwing the Marauder’s Map onto the table, and scanning for Draco’s dot which was now slowly making its way down from the Astronomy Tower. He flopped back onto the bed, the springs coiling under him as they absorbed his impact.

The desk was covered in thick tomes and he picked out a familiar title he’d seen Hermione reading once. It seemed like forever since he’d talked to Hermione and Ron. With everything going on with Draco and Ginny, and Ron and Hermione’s budding relationship, there had been no time for _talk_.

He rolled onto his stomach, the dim candlelight his only companion as it cast shadows around the foreign space. Harry flipped open the book to a random dog-eared page, the inked words blurring together as they fought to fit onto the singular page. The font was a scrawling cursive, hard to look at and even harder to decipher.

Harry squinted at it, pushing his glasses onto his head as he divided the words in the low light and made sense of them. The book’s cover was fairly new, unlike most of the ratty ones which had probably been dwelling in the library for centuries before Harry’s time. The author’s name wasn’t engraved on the spine either which was shocking in itself but Harry didn’t care enough to question it.

This particular page as Harry managed to read, detailed a complicated recipe that Harry itched to place. The ingredients and procedure seemed fairly familiar and they nagged at the corner of his mind. And then it hit him. It was for a Calming Draught.

They weren't an odd thing to see slipped out of pockets and downed during breakfast or passed between hands along corridors. But the vials had always been stamped with the Hogwarts’ crest and carefully guarded by Madam Pomfrey. Harry wasn’t even sure when was the last time Madam Pomfrey had allowed him to take one in fear of him getting addicted.

While the school nurse had definitely been more liberal with them after the War, Harry had first hand seen how Nigel Creevey had nearly spiralled into addiction after having been faced with the death of his brother during the War. The thought made him shudder. Madam Pomfrey had put him on a cleanse to get the potion out of his system and Harry knew for a fact Nigel had never touched the stuff again, but the whole incident had brought a lot of things into perspective.

Since starting Hogwarts, Harry had always put the Wizarding World on a pedestal and idolised it—dubbing it the home he never had. Then when, Voldemort had started actively attacking him, the shimmering image had dulled but never completely faded away. The Wizarding World and the Muggle world were two separate entities in his head—the former a fairytale come to life and the latter, a bad memory at the back of his mind. Things had truly come into perspective during the War.

Emotions like greed and betrayal and deceit were stark realities Harry couldn’t avoid in either world and after the War, the image he’d had of the dreamlike Wizarding World couldn’t be reconciled. Nigel Creevey’s addiction was just the tip of the iceberg Harry had been too blind to notice.

Harry ran his finger down the recipe, the bumps of ink smooth against his fingertip. He wondered if Hermione had been brewing some extra Calming Draught for herself and if now, Draco was doing the same. The rest of the book seemed to contain similar recipes and the odd spell to relieve oneself of trauma. It sounded eerily like an _obliviate_  and even riskier. Harry wondered how the book had managed to end up in the library. This was as dangerous as learning how to create a horcrux.

A series of slow knocks on the wooden door sent Harry upright as he guiltily shoved the book back in its place. Why did he suddenly feel so on edge? He had permission to be here, he wasn’t guilty of anything. The door opened on a whine, a head of soft blond making its way in, head hung and steps shuffling.

Harry cleared his throat, causing Draco to lift his head so fast Harry wondered how the boy’s neck hadn’t snapped. Draco’s eyes were wide and brimmed with red, puffy like he’d been crying and rubbed them too hard—which he had been doing when Harry left. He kept worrying his bottom lip, gnawing on the spit-slicked skin as he struggled to make eye contact with the Gryffindor lazing in his bed.

Draco seemed shocked that he’d found Harry exactly where he said he would be and Harry wondered for a moment how many people had made empty promises to the feeble boy before him.

“Are you done…” Harry trailed off, losing his train of thought. Where had he been going with that sentence? The options his mind supplied him with were nasty and cruel and Harry, for a second, wondered whether Draco’s malign had imprinted itself on him. Maybe spending this much time with the Slytherin was changing him.

Draco didn’t answer, but walked right past Harry and sat at his study, busying himself with worrying the cuffs of his sleeves. Harry turned to face him, cocking his head and putting on a disinterested façade. Draco reminded him of every nervous first year who had just been faced with a lesson from the late Severus Snape. He didn’t want Draco to look at him that way.

“Come here and talk to me,” Harry decided on at last, breaking the tense silence seeping into the dank air. Draco stood up awkwardly, making his way to the bed with an ease of someone who’d learnt to manoeuvre it years ago.

He flopped onto the bed, his demeanour rigid as he asked on a whisper, “Talk about what?” Harry stopped short at the question. He didn’t have any questions he thought Draco could give him the answer to. He wanted to ask why he was so entranced by him. He wanted to ask why he simply couldn’t detach himself cleanly from him. He wanted to ask why he thought Draco was so compelling that he threw all his ethics, morals and proclivities to the wind. But he knew the only person who could answer those questions were himself, so he stayed mum.  

Draco shifted on the bed, running a hand through his hair and disturbing it’s already ruffled state. “How did you get it here in the first place?” Draco started conversationally. God, did Harry hate this small talk. How did their relationship manage to swing between suicidal ideation and pleasantries like they were the same topic?

“I can see why none of the Slytherins were sorted into Ravenclaw, I literally strolled right past them and into your room,” Harry answered with a quirk of his lips. “How very Gryffindor of you,” Draco quipped, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. And then, the silence settled over them again like a blanket in summer. It was suffocating and uncomfortable. Harry had had enough of it.

Harry pulled Draco on top of him, the weight grounding him firmly in reality. The Slytherin was straddling him, eyes wide as they were when he’d first entered the room. He’d stopped fervently gnawing his lip, but now they were parted slightly, shallow breaths being drawn in and out like he had just finished a Quidditch match.

And he looked exactly like that—his hair was a mess from when he’d run his hand through it so many times, his eyes were red like they’d been stung by the wind and his pulse was a delirious beat against Harry’s body. Draco swallowed. Once. Once more. He stopped.

They stared at each other. Harry swallowed. And then he pulled Draco down, smashing their lips together in discordance. Their teeth clacked together uncomfortably, but they continued. Draco pressed forward, grinding down onto Harry as he tilted his head to a better angle. Harry felt the slide of Draco’s tongue against the roof of his mouth, exploring it like it was the first time. When had kissing become his best offence? When had using his mouth to solve problems become this natural to him?

He tugged at the hem of the blond’s shirt, slipping his hand underneath and tracing a path up the languid curve of his spine. Draco shivered under the touch, hand slipping into Harry’s hair and the other pulling off his tie and popping open the first two buttons of his shirt. A cool hand slid across the expanse of his warm skin—his collarbone, the soft dip between his pectorals, his nipples. Draco touched him like he’d never get the chance to again. Desperate, tender touches that made Harry’s mind malfunction and all coherent thought stop in its tracks. Draco was a drug and Harry was addicted.

He let Draco rid him of his shirt, tossing it to side like he was throwing away the fraught air between them. Draco’s shirt was undone too, but still hung on his shoulders as he bent down to suck Harry’s collarbone. Harry fastened his hands to Draco’s arse, kneading the supple skin through his pants and growing frustrated with them, spelled them away wordlessly.

Draco yelped, sitting up abruptly, the absence of his pants and underwear revealing his half-hard cock. Even in the dim light, Harry could see Draco’s flushed cheeks and the full-body blush he’d seen the last time he’d fucked Draco right in this same bed.

The confident Draco who’d taken the lead only moments ago was gone, replaced with the blushing mess that straddled him. The blond pulled at his shirt, trying and failing to cover his cock. Harry sat up, languidly manoeuvring Draco under him. He did the same as Draco had been previously doing to him. He mapped the body beneath him with his mouth, marking a trail as he did, the air sweet with Draco’s sounds of pleasure.

When he reached Draco’s navel, he paused, the slam of a door souring the mood instantaneously. A few muffled shouts and the echoed patter of feet against the hard cobbled floor downstairs. Harry thought nothing of it, but Draco had tensed up, the planes of his body conspicuous with sweat and Harry’s own saliva.

Harry indignant that Draco’s attention had flitted elsewhere so quickly, licked the head of his cock. Draco gasped audibly, a strident sound piercing the haze of pre-coital lust and testosterone. Harry tongued the tip, eyes trained on Draco’s widened ones, on the the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he tried to swallow, on the slight tremble of Draco’s abdomen as he fought to control his primal urge to thrust upwards.

The smart rapping on the the door nearly choked Harry. He stilled as did Draco, two statues trapped in a sliver of time never to advance or regress. It almost seemed sacred.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, get your sorry arse out of that room before I get Professor Slughorn to de-spell your door and drag you out!” shrieked no other than Pansy Parkinson. Draco’s breath hitched, his cock wilting ever so slightly but still hot and throbbing in Harry’s mouth. Pansy’s foot tapping against the floor outside filled the room with a staccato that Harry’s fingers yearned to drum on Draco’s thigh. He instead went down, taking Draco in deeper as much as he could handle without gagging. Draco’s eyes shifted between the door and Harry, his hands twisted in his silk sheets.

Bouts of hysteria like this seemed to be the norm these days, but then again, Harry wasn’t quite sure what passed as normal these days. Was kissing Draco normal? Was liking the curve of Draco’s spine against his palm normal? Was wanting to devour someone entirely _normal_? What even was normal anymore? Harry didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you liked what you read, please leave kudos and comment, thank you!


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